


White Collar

by emwebb17



Series: Angel Slayer [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, FBI, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, graphic descriptions of past rape/homicides
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 07:02:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 169,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18960265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: In an attempt to get past what happened in New Hampshire, Oska focuses on his new agent training at Quantico and Benson throws himself into a safe, boring white collar crime case.  As Benson and Jordan work the case, they uncover a much darker conspiracy.  And though behind bars, the Angel Slayer isn't through with Benson and Oska.





	1. Week 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Angel Slayer and was original a Cockles RPS fanfiction. The characters did not convert well to Destiel, so I made it a "non-fandom" work. The name changes are little more than window dressing, but it was always very much an alternate universe with no references to the actors' real families or personal histories outside of a few personality traits.

**Monday, July 7th, 2014**

Benson opened his eyes.

Across the room he saw the beautiful, handmade ebony dresser that looked like it slanted to the left.  The IKEA dresser had had the same problem.  Apparently, it was the floor.  Benson rolled onto his back and luxuriated in the wide open space of the king size bed, reaching his arms up in a stretch and wrapping his fingers around the wooden slats that matched the dresser.  He stretched his legs and then relaxed into the soft mattress.  And to think, Oska had intended to just give these away when he'd sold his parents' house.  Benson had all but pitched a fit and they'd managed to rescue the bedroom set and the dining table and chairs that the new owners had been kind enough to let Oska take back for free.  Perhaps they hadn't known exactly how much quality, handmade furniture was worth, but either way, Benson knew he'd gotten the better end of the deal even though the dining table didn't quite fit in the tiny space allotted for such frivolities in his small, expensive one bedroom apartment in Bethesda.

Benson tried to enjoy being able to spread out completely and ignore the only reason why he could do so was because the bed was empty.  He felt a physical ache in his chest when he couldn’t keep from thinking about Oska for more than three seconds.

Eleven weeks.

He’d been gone for  _eleven_  weeks and there were still seven fucking more to go.  Ever since the man had shown up on his doorstep seven months ago, he hadn’t spent a single night not wrapped up in his arms, or clinging to him like a security blanket, or sprawled on the far side of the bed because it was too hot to touch but still close enough that a flung out arm would find a hip or a shoulder or in one case, Oska’s face.  He had startled awake and been very ornery about the whole incident until Benson had crawled between his legs and sucked him off.

There had been none of that for eleven weeks.  Oska was busy all day every day at the FBI Academy and while he certainly lived close enough to Quantico to visit on weekends, there were too many team building activities the new agent trainees had to do.  Benson was going to insist that Oska take a weekend off at some point though; he’d gone through the same training and he knew that not all of that team nonsense was mandatory.  He might even insist that weekend be this weekend because this week was going to suck.

After Elton, the wrap up had been a nightmare.  It still wasn’t over.  Little’s trial was set to begin in October and mostly the prosecutors had to deal with getting ready for that, but Benson was on their speed dial.  So, he’d been more than happy to throw himself into the white collar crime world that his squad usually covered.

The case he’d been assigned to take lead on was supposed to be pretty cut and dry: fraudulent securities.  Simple.  Except their investigation had been hampered at every turn and four months in they hadn’t even met with any of the executive management of their suspected target company.  They finally had a meeting with both the president and the CEO today, if it wasn’t canceled.  Again.  Then at some point he had to drive out to the shooting range with Jordan so the younger agent could unload his hurt feelings onto a paper dummy.  And Friday…

Friday he had another meeting with Russ.  He hated seeing the psychopath, he hated talking to him, and most of all he hated being seen by him.  He couldn’t stand the way his eyes tripped over his body and lingered on vital parts.

And Oska was not here.  This week was going to suck.  He turned over and looked at the clock on the cheap nightstand.  He’d asked Oska to build matching nightstands for the bedroom furniture, and he’d replied that as soon as they moved into a house with an appropriately sized work room he’d get right on it.  He scowled.  Grief had definitely repressed a good portion of Oska’s sass while they’d been in New Hampshire, and now that he was finally coping with his losses and recovering from his traumatic ordeal, more of his personality was shining through.  And it was snarky as fuck.  Benson smiled.  He kind of loved it.

The clock said it was just past six o’clock.  He remembered their days had started pretty early at the Academy, but this might be too early to call.  He wasn’t worried Oska would mind being woken up, but his roommate had complained to him about the early morning and late night calls.  It seemed like if anyone was going to get one of the few private rooms in the dorms that it would go to one of the older trainees who’d already put in his time as a police officer.  Benson debated how much trouble he would get in if he pissed off Oska’s roommate.  Fuck it, he didn’t care.

Benson reached for his phone and started guiltily when it rang.  He glanced at the door, wondering if Oska had somehow come home from class and was spying on him.  No such luck.  He picked up the phone and smiled when he saw it was Oska calling.  He slid his finger across the screen and settled back into the pillows.

“Hey, beautiful,” he gave by way of greeting.

“Morning, Benson.  So, were you about to call me?”

“Wha—uh, no.”

Oska laughed and Benson closed his eyes.  The pang in his chest was back.  He missed him beyond what he thought might be psychologically healthy.

“It’s okay.  I just didn’t want to waste any time, so I called you.”

“Waste time?”

“Del just left to take a shower.  We should have at least fifteen minutes.”

Benson’s eyes flew open.  “Are you saying—no, you said don’t waste time.”  Benson plunged his hand under his boxers and gripped his soft cock which was already tingling with the anticipation.  “I was just thinking about that one night I sucked you off in bed.”

Oska laughed.  “That  _one_  night?”

“You know, when I hit you in the face?”

“Oh yeahhhhh…” Oska moaned softly.  “That was good.  If I recall correctly you finger fucked me too.”

“I did,” Benson sighed, recalling the cute, mewling noises Oska had made as he’d been teased and tortured for almost half an hour before Benson relented and really started going to town on him.  “Wanna do that now, Oz.  Spread your cheeks, bury my face between them and taste every inch of you.”

Oska’s breathing hitched and then turned into a pleased groan.  The sound of fabric shifting came through over the phone.

“Are you touching yourself, darling?” Benson asked.

“Don’t call me that,” Oska ground out and there were more shifting sounds.  “I’m gonna be the one to fuck you today.  Face down, ass up.  All mine.”

“No way, I’m busy eating you out.”

“Go ahead.  I don’t see why we can’t both fuck each other in the ass this morning.”

Benson was about to protest, but heck, he was right.  “Hope you’re going to do a better job prepping me than last time.”

“Shut up, you dick.  You’re the one that said you were ready.”

“And you believed me?  I was totally lust-drunk.  I would have let Charlie mount me at that point.”

“Well, that’s sexy.  And romantic.”

Benson stifled a giggle and enjoyed the slight friction burn as his dry hand pulled on his fully hard cock.  Then he imagined Oska doing the same on his single bed less than fifty miles away.

“Oh, God, Oz, I want you.  I wanna bury myself to the hilt and move in you until we melt.”

“Fuck, I love it when you get all poetical on me.”

“Shut your mouth.”

“Thought you liked it when I screamed.”

“Oskaaaaa,” Benson whined as he felt a sudden jolt of pleasure shoot through his dick.  This was going to be over embarrassingly fast.

Oska’s panting could be heard clearly over the line.  “B-Ben…son…fuck I can’t last this morning.  Fuck, baby, tell me how good I’d feel.”

Benson groaned and turned over, releasing his dick so he could hold the phone to his ear and humped the mattress.  “Like home, darling.  Like you’re mine.”

“Less poetical, more literal.  I wanna feel your tight hole sucking me in deeper.”

Benson groaned and worked his hips harder.

“Oh God are you fucking the sheets, baby?” Oska asked on a moan.

“Yeah…”

“Mmn, I can see it.  Those hips working your pretty ass up and down, up and down…where am I?”

“Face down.  Flat on the bed, knees bent and legs spread wide.”

“Yes, yessss…oh God I love it when you fuck me like that.”

“I know.”

“I’m on my back, babe.  You’re riding me.”

“You got a hand on your dick?”

“Yup.”

“Finger your hole.”

“But…the phone.”

“Work it out!” Benson shouted, desperate—he was going to leave Oska hanging any second now.

There was some shuffling on the other end of the line and then a keening moan filled his ears.

“Oh, yes!  Oh fuck yes!  Oh, God…fuck me...”

Benson bit down on his pillow and his scream was muffled by the bulk of it as he shot his load into his underwear and rutted his way through a pleasant orgasm.  For about a minute they just listened to each other breathe over the line.  Then Benson could hear Oska’s bed creak as he sat up.

“Best fucking wakeup call in the world,” Oska said.

“You called me.”

“Eh.  I gotta shower and get ready for breakfast.”

Benson laughed cruelly.  “Still thinking the food at the cafeteria is pretty decent?”

“Shut-up.  It is.  Just, eleven weeks of the exact same thing over and over—and another seven more weeks of it to go is a little depressing.”

“If you’d visit me one weekend I’d take you out for steak.”

“If I visited you one weekend would we leave the apartment?”

“Nope.  I will buy one and cook it for you then.”

“Mm, sounds like a good time.”

“Can it be this weekend?”

“I don’t know.  I’ll have to check the schedule.”

“I’m just going to show up one weekend and fuck you on the floor of your dorm.”

“Oh!  How did I ever resist you for so long, you charmer you?”

“ _Did_  you resist me, Oz?”

Oska grumbled something.

“What?”

“Nothing.  You got a busy day today?”

“Maybe.  Depends on if that meeting gets canceled again.”

“You’re FBI, can’t you like, compel them to talk to you?”

“Legally?  No.  You been paying attention to your classes, darling?”

“Yes.  And seriously, where did this whole ‘darling’ thing come from?”

Benson shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But I like it.”

“I don’t.  Find something else.”

“Sweetie pie?  Honey buns?”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Fluffy bear?  Cuddle slut?”

“Cuddle—?!”

“Pumpkin face?  Angel lips—”

Benson cut off abruptly and sucked in a breath.  He clenched his jaw and started counting to ten to calm down.

“Hey, Benson, baby,” Oska said softly, “Don’t let it bother you.  It doesn’t bother me.”

Benson finished counting and turned over on his back.  He didn’t respond right away, so Oska called out his name.

“I have to see him this week,” Benson ground out through his clenched teeth.

“Fuck,” Oska breathed.  “Can’t those prosecutors handle any of their shit?”

“No, this is one of the regular ones.  To talk about his…disciples.”

“Baby, I know it’s important to catch the sick fucks that worked with him, but maybe someone else should do it.  He gets so graphic because he knows you hate it.  He likes…violating you.”

“I know.  But he won’t talk to anyone else.”

“Then who cares?  Just let him rot.”

“But what if they’re out there still killing?”  Benson rubbed his forehead with his hand.  “I’ll be fine.  I can mostly tune him out pretty easily.”

“Benson…”

“It’s fine, Oska.  You have to shower, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Will you be in your room at eight again tonight?”

“Yeah, should be.”

“I’ll call you tonight.  Work hard.”

Oska hesitated, like he wanted to say something else, but all he said was, “You too.”

“I love you, Oska.  I…”  Benson trailed off.  Why wasn’t there a stronger word?

“I know, Benson.  And I don’t doubt it.  And I miss you and I want you and I love you.  And I need you to be safe.”

“I’m not working a dangerous case, babe.”

“I’m not talking about your case.”

“It’s a completely controlled—Oska, we’ve talked about this.  I’m not going to stop interviewing Russ, okay?”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to stop asking.”

“No, I guess you don’t.”

They were quiet for a couple of minutes.  Benson rubbed the sheets with the fingers of his free hand and frowned as he held the quiet phone to his ear.  Noise on the other end alerted him to the fact that Oska’s roommate had returned.

“Call me tonight,” Oska said.

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“Lo—“  Benson pulled the phone back.  Oska had already hung up.

He rubbed his fingers over his eyes.  They certainly weren’t a perfect everything is sunshine and rainbows kind of couple, but when they didn’t agree on something they could always discuss it rationally and work out a compromise.  But on this—they were forever at odds.  Benson felt obligated to find Russ’ accomplices and inform the families of his victims that the instrument of their misery was behind bars.  But Oska seemed to think that none of that mattered.  Or at least, it shouldn’t be Benson’s responsibility.  Benson knew it stemmed from something that had happened when he’d been Russ’ prisoner, but Oska would not talk much about what had happened that night.  He knew it wasn’t his place to pry or demand answers, but he had been nudging him less and less gently to talk to a therapist about it.  His mind had come up with a hundred and one horrifying scenarios of what had happened to Oska that night—and he wasn’t sure if the truth was not as bad as he feared…or worse.

Benson heard the tentative clicking of nails on the hardwood floor by the door.

“He’s still not here,” Benson said to Charlie.

She turned around and went back out into the living room.  Benson frowned.  Wasn’t she supposed to be  _his_  dog?  He supposed it didn’t matter so long as she didn’t completely revert back to her cowering ways before Oska got back.  It had taken several patient weeks of working with the war veteran before Oska had gotten the Weimaraner to come out of her shell and start acting more or less like a normal dog again.  But with Oska gone, she was slowly withdrawing into herself.  Benson apparently wasn’t good enough company.

He allowed himself to lay comfortably in his bed for a few more moments, and then he sighed and rolled out of bed.  He discarded his soiled underwear in the laundry basket in the overstuffed closet he shared with Oska and headed for the kitchen to begin his routine.

Coffee, brush teeth, shower, get dressed, coax Charlie outside for short walk, get dragged back into building by scared dog, feed dog, clip handcuffs in holder to belt, check clip in service weapon, holster gun, holster Blackberry, check on dog in corner, recheck weapon, re-holster gun, put credentials in left suit jacket pocket, put lanyard with work badge around neck, pour leftover coffee into travel mug—he was about to walk out the door when his Blackberry buzzed.  A small smile appeared on his lips instantaneously as he saw Oska was calling him.

"Hey, Oz, what's up?"

"Go back and check the coffee machine."

"What?"

"Before you get down to the parking garage—go check the coffee machine."

Benson obediently walked back into the kitchen and verified that the machine was turned off.

"Is it off?"

"Yep."

"Okay, get your car keys, babe."

Benson walked back into his bedroom to get the keys to his Bu car off the dresser.  He'd almost walked out the door without them.

"Thanks for the reminder."

"Sure.  Are you out?"

"Yeah."

"Lock the door."

"I know," Benson growled.

"Now check it," Oska said, unperturbed by Benson's surliness.

Benson gripped the doorknob and gave it a shake: locked.  "Okay, it's locked."

"Alright, head on down to the car then."

"I'll lose service in the elevator."

"It's alright.  Love you."

"Lo—"

Benson frowned.  He got hung up on again.  He took the elevator down to the parking garage and walked over to the two year old Ford Taurus he had been assigned.  It wasn't the most stylish or powerful car out there, but it served its purpose.  Benson checked his pockets—and there were the car keys.  He paused as he opened the door, wondering if he'd left the coffee machine on, but then he remembered checking it with Oska.  He got in and started the car.  He hesitated with his foot on the brake before pulling out of the spot, momentarily panicking that he's forgotten to lock the door.  No, he'd locked it.  He remembered telling Oska.  Benson let out a soft laugh.

He rubbed his forehead and smiled as he thought about what Oska had done for him.  Lauren had tried to help him break his obsessive compulsive tendencies by rolling her eyes and telling him that he'd already taken care of everything and he just needed to trust her.  That had really chaffed at him; it was one of the reasons he'd become so unhappy with her so quickly after they'd moved in together.  Oska was trying to do the same thing by breaking him of his habits, but he was doing it by trying to teach Benson to trust himself.

Benson pulled out of the parking garage and activated a Bluetooth call.  Oska picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, Benson.  Did you make it out okay?"

"Yeah."  Benson chewed on his lip as he made the turn onto Wisconsin Avenue.  "How’d you know today would be one of those mornings?"

"You're anxious.  About the interview?  Right?"

"Yeah, a little bit."

"Mm-hmm.  Sorry to end the call so fast, but I've got to head out or I'll be late.  And you know—no phones in the classrooms."

"Yeah.  Thanks again."

"Anytime.  Love you."

Benson didn't reply and waited.  The display on his dash indicated the call was still connected.

"Oz?"

"Yes, Ben?"

"Love you."

Benson could actually hear Oska's smile over the phone, and then he hung up.  Benson chuckled and changed the radio to the local rock station to hear what outlandish story the DJs were talking about this morning on his distance-short, time-long commute.

Driving through DC at any time of day or night was an exercise in patience and most drivers failed miserably.  Benson wasn’t one to succumb to road rage—it really took someone doing something really stupid to set him off—but he’d found that he was much more prone to getting annoyed with the traffic he’d experienced all his life in the weeks that Oska had been gone.  It was strange how quickly being with Oska had become what was normal and routine even though he’d spent over thirty years without him.  And wasn’t that a travesty in and of itself?  Benson had spent more than one dry administrative meeting imagining what his life might have been like if he had gone to Dartmouth—or more realistically since he hadn’t had the grades to get into an Ivy League school—if Oska had gone to Virginia Tech and they’d met when they were younger.  He would be embarrassed about daydreaming like a teenaged school girl, but those meetings were really boring.

The traffic crawled slower and slower until it came to dead stop.  Benson blew air out through his mouth and settled back in his seat, getting comfortable for a long wait.  Being stuck in his car with nothing but the radio for company didn’t bother him because he was worried about getting to work on time, but because his thoughts inevitably turned to Oska.

Living with Oska had been tumultuous.  Not the actual living with him part; that had been astoundingly easy to adjust to.  He never once felt like there was someone in “his” apartment.  Oska was there and it never seemed odd.  He didn’t know if that was because they were in a honeymoon phase or what, but they made love every night and had sex almost immediately when he got home from work and basically fucked all the times in between.  Benson wondered if it was healthy for two men in their mid-thirties to screw like horny teenagers, but exercise was exercise.  He had begun to wonder if they were traumatizing Charlie, but she had gotten better by having Oska stay with her all day every day.  And Oska had stayed in every day and never ventured out unless Benson could go with him.  It had only just started to dawn on Benson that that might not just be new town jitters when Oska had left for New Agent Class.

As it turned out Oska had applied to the FBI over a year prior to his sister’s death and had already passed the first two phases when the hiring moratorium was put in place on the federal government.  When it was lifted when Congress finally approved the new budget in January, the hiring process had been kicked back into gear and Oska had been called in to complete phase three and his physical fitness test.  He’d passed easily, of course, and had been slated to be in the first new class of agents.  He’d been shipped off to Quantico at the beginning of April, meaning they’d really only had three and a half months living together.  The end of December and beginning of January had been filled with drama of the Remick Family variety, so he’d had his attention focused elsewhere rather than on Oska.

For eleven miserable weeks he and Oska had been apart, only seeing each other once the third weekend he’d been gone.  They had to survive on e-mails and phone calls and quick phone sex while Oska’s roommate was out of the room.  It was its own circle of hell.  It was while they had discussions during some of their emails that Benson realized Oska knew nothing about their neighborhood.  Not even the fact that there was a CVS on the corner of their block.  Oska had kept himself isolated, which didn’t seem to be his nature whenever they were out together.  It was finally occurring to him that Oska’s behavior was a little odd and that he had never actually gone to see a therapist after his ordeal with Russ.  And now that he was gone and they had such little contact, it was impossible for him to tell how Oska was really doing.  He made up his mind to make that surprise trip to Quantico on Saturday; he needed to talk with Oska in person.

Even with the cushion of time Benson had built into his schedule, the traffic was bad enough that he arrived at the office almost twenty minutes later than usual.  The lights were on over their section of cubicles on the sixth floor and Benson correctly assumed Jordan had beaten him to work.  He dropped his briefcase on the floor by his desk and then pushed backward in his chair and into Jordan’s space which was now directly behind Benson's desk.  He bumped into Jordan's desk and found him slumped in his chair, scowling at his monitor.  It was the same scowl he’d had on his face for three months now.

“Morning, Jordan.”

Jordan grunted in reply.

“You know, I think Kerley was supposed to be secondary on this case I’m working, but he’s still tied up with the DC Mistress thing.”

“So?  Nothing’s moving on your case.  I’m sure you’re not overworked.”

Benson glared at the side of Jordan’s face.  “Thanks, buddy.”

“You’re welcome, pal.”

Benson counted to ten.  He knew Jordan was still very upset, possibly heartbroken, but it had been three months.  He could attempt to be civil at work at the very least.

“I was informing you of this because I thought you might like to be my secondary.  I finally have a meeting set up with Klein and Carpinelli today, so I thought you could come along and help me out.  I’m sure Jake won’t mind.”

“Hn.”

Benson clenched his hand into a fist but kept his cool.  “Are you working on anything pressing at the moment?”

“One of the guys on the healthcare fraud squad asked me to cross check some of their guys with the list we compiled out of the Portman case.”

“Sounds time consuming.”

Jordan sighed heavily.  He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and remained silent as he scrolled through the rows and rows of names and addresses on an Excel spreadsheet.

“How about this,” Benson tried.  “You come with me to this meeting, and we’ll go to the gun range when it’s done.”

Jordan raised an eyebrow but kept his eyes on the screen.  “I would like to go to the gun range.”

Benson slapped him on the shoulder.  “Atta boy.  Meeting’s at ten, so we’ll leave at nine.  It won’t take that long to get there, but I need to fill you in on the details a bit.”

Benson didn’t wait for a reply, if there even would be one, and pushed himself back into his space.  They had about two hours before they had to leave which gave him just enough time to go through his e-mails and read the report Ainsley had written for him on the CEO and President of Klein & Klein, John Carpinelli and Chris Klein respectively.

 

Benson parked in the “No Parking” zone in front of the business complex and threw his parking placard (which was just a piece of paper that looked like a high school achievement certificate) onto the dashboard.  He exited the car, buttoning his jacket as he slid the keys into his pocket.  He waited for Jordan to join him, but he didn’t get out of the car.  Benson ducked down and saw him slumped in his seat, glaring at his phone.  Benson thumped the roof of the car and Jordan started in alarm.  Then he quickly put his phone up and got out of the car.

“Sorry,” he grumbled.

Benson put a hand on his shoulder to keep him from walking ahead of him into the building.

“Hey.  Get your head in the game.  We’ll go to the range after.”

Jordan nodded and closed his eyes.  He inhaled deeply and then exhaled.  When he opened his eyes he looked focused.  He gave Benson a nod and they made their way up the stairs and into the lobby.  They double checked the floor they wanted to visit on the directory on the wall before making their way to the elevator bank.  Klein & Klein owned five floors out of the twenty story building, and they went to the fifteenth floor which was their main entrance.  The front office was spacious and bright due to the abundance of windows.  The view was mostly of other buildings, but also some clear sky and trees farther out.  There were no skyscrapers in DC and Benson liked it that way.  New York and Chicago always made him feel like a rat in a maze.

A pretty woman with tawny colored skin and black curly hair smiled brightly at them from her place behind a long counter.  She wore all black, which made her figure stand out starkly against the large, white sign on the wall behind her that read “Klein & Klein, established 1948” in large, swooping black font.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” she asked in a pleasant though practiced voice.

Just as they pulled out their badges to introduce themselves, the phone rang.  She held up one manicured finger and answered the phone.

“Klein & Klein, this is Megalyn speaking.  How may I help you?”

Benson turned to Jordan and mouthed, “Megalyn?”

Jordan smirked and turned away from the woman so he could mutter softly.  “You and your boyfriend really have no place making fun of other people with weird names.”

Benson made a face at him and Jordan bit his lip to keep himself from smiling as he turned back around to face the receptionist as she placed her call on hold.

“How can I help you two?”

They held out their credentials for her to read, and Benson took point.

“I’m Special Agent Benson Remick and this is Special Agent Jordan Szustakowski.  We have a meeting with Mr. Klein and Mr. Carpinelli today.  And today I really do hope they intend to make it.”

“Oh, yes of course.  I’ll contact Mr. Klein’s assistant and he’ll come down and escort you up.  You can have a seat over there if you like.”

“Thank you.”

Benson and Jordan made their way over to a small waiting area by a corner that was mostly windows and took a seat in the plushy, black leather chairs.  Jordan picked up a copy of the  _Wall Street Journal_  from the table in between them and pretended to thumb through it.

“So, how long do you think we’ll sit before they cancel again?” Jordan muttered.

“If they cancel again I’m taking hostages and forcing them to take me upstairs,” Benson grumbled back.

Less than five minutes later a young man in a suit that probably cost more than Jordan’s and Benson’s suits combined greeted them with an anxious expression and fidgeting hands.  Jordan and Benson exchanged looks, but followed him to the internal elevator system that connected the company’s floors and rode it to the top floor.  The young man escorted them into a large room that was more apartment than office.  There was a kitchenette in one corner complete with a stove and refrigerator, and at the other end was a living room set nicer than the one in Benson’s home.  Toward the back was a heavy wood desk that faced several large windows and had an unobstructed view to the south; Benson could see the Washington Monument.  They were escorted to two seats in front of the desk, which put their backs to the window.  It made Benson feel uneasy for some reason.

“Mr. Klein will be in shortly,” the man informed them.  “Can I get you anything?  Tea, coffee, water?”

“We’re fine, thank you,” Benson answered for them both.

The assistant nodded and then left the office, leaving them alone.  They sat in the stillness in silence, occasionally thumping a rhythm out on a chair arm or making a popping noise with their mouths.  After a couple of minutes, a door they hadn’t noticed before by the living room area opened.  An athletic, handsome man in his mid-twenties entered.  He wore a dark grey suit and had his dark brown hair gelled into a perfect businessman coiffure.  Jordan and Benson stood to greet him and shake hands.

“Thank you both for coming.  I’m Chris Klein.  I’m the president of Klein & Klein.  Please, have a seat.”

Klein sat down behind the desk and Jordan and Benson retook their seats.  Benson let his eyes wander over the young man’s face and body.  He wasn’t sweating, but his face was pinched and his shoulders were tense.  He was very uncomfortable.  Whether it was due to the potential embezzlement taking place under his nose or guilt remained to be seen.  Benson pulled out a small notepad and pen and got as far as, “Mr. Klein,” when the man interrupted him.

“Please, call me Chris.  My father—and grandfather—were Mr. Klein.”

Benson decided to avoid the situation by not addressing him personally again.  “Thank you for seeing us.  We were also expecting the CEO, John Carpinelli?”

Chris’s lips twitched down into a frown before he schooled his features.  “I wanted the opportunity to speak with you alone first.  He’ll be joining us in about a half hour or so.”

Benson raised his eyebrows.  “I take it that means you have suspicions regarding your Chief Executive Officer?”

“Not so much suspicions,” Chris hedged, “as the fact that he doesn’t trust me.  So, I don’t trust him.”

“Can you tell us where this mutual mistrust comes from?” Jordan asked.

Chris made an aborted sighing motion, like he was consciously trying to stop himself from sighing in frustration yet again.

“The short version, on his part, is my age.  My father died quite suddenly last year, and I had only just graduated from Wharton.  He didn’t feel I was ready to take over as president and has been pushing back against my leadership, especially with the board of trustees.  In the beginning, I did defer to his greater experience, and he decided to make a lot of changes to the way things were run under my father.  For the most part I agreed that my father’s old fashioned practices needed to be updated, but I feel like he did too much too fast.  He brought in unvetted ‘experts’ to take over key positions and forced many of our executives into early retirement.

“As much as I am accused of being a bleeding heart, I did see the merit in some turnover in staff.  Especially among the older crowd that was resistant to new ideas.  But then…then I noticed some oddities in the way business was being conducted.”

“Such as?” Benson asked, wondering if the whole fraud case was merely an in-fight between the president and the CEO.

“We don’t do penny stocks here.  All of our clientele have extremely lucrative business ventures and accounts.  When we invest in securities and commodities, it’s not about wheeling and dealing to the ‘next big thing’ rocking the market.  We’re about finding steady though appropriately risky investments for our clients.  Lately though, I’ve noticed that a lot of our clients are being told to invest in certain commodities that belly up or disappear almost in days.  This results in our clients losing some money, but not enough to concern them.  After all, risk is part of the game.

“I did think it was odd that this seemed to be happening across the board with our clients, almost like it’s going through a roll call of our client list.  But, I’ve personally looked into the investments they’re being directed to and they all seem to be legitimate startups—even though when they fail, they’re basically untraceable to another company or individual.”

Benson broke in with, “Klein & Klein came to our attention as a potential ‘pump and dump’ scheme—what you’ve just described—because two of your clients were listed as investors in confirmed fraudulent commodities.”

Chris’s jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth.  “Shit.”

“You must keep records of which brokers work with which clients; have you noticed that all the clients losing money work with one or two brokers in particular?”

Chris shook his head.  “No.  I looked into that as soon as I noticed the trend.  Basically, this has happened to all of my brokers.”

“Do you have any assistants that aid the entire office?” Jordan asked.  “Or is it common for brokers to assist each other without documenting their involvement?”

“Well, if the latter is happening, I suppose I wouldn’t know about it.  But it seems unlikely as brokers work on commission.  No one would help someone else if they weren’t going to get a cut of the pie.  As for assistants, we have several secretaries and office workers that handle administrative matters and copying and filing and what have you.  They could potentially have access to the information in the files, but they couldn’t possibly make an unauthorized investment.  And none of the clients have complained about having investments made on their behalf that they didn’t approve.”

“Do you have an auditor or anyone on staff at all who has access to the clients and doesn’t rely on commission?” Benson asked.

Chris smiled humorlessly.  “Well, I do.”

Benson flicked his pen over his notepad, but didn’t actually write anything down.

“As do I,” a voice startled them all by chiming in.

All three men’s heads turned to the office door as a tall, impeccably dressed blond man strode into the room.

“My CEO,” Chris informed the agents stiffly.

Jordan and Benson stood up to shake the man’s hand as he approached them.  Benson was surprised by his height; it wasn’t often that they came across someone who could match them eye to eye as it were.

“John Carpinelli,” he introduced himself succinctly and gave just as efficient a handshake to Benson.  He turned to Jordan, and Benson noticed that the man’s eyes flicked up and down quickly, resulting in a small smile and a slightly extended handshake.  Jordan either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he’d just been assessed as a potential sexual partner—because really, Carpinelli didn’t know enough about him to want anything else at this point—and glanced back at the chairs they had been sitting in.  There were only two and neither of them knew if they should sit since Carpinelli wouldn’t have a place to sit.

“Let’s move this to some place more accommodating,” Carpinelli said.  He turned to walk toward the living room set up without consulting Chris or waiting for Jordan and Benson to agree.  Benson glanced at Chris.  He looked irritated, but rose from his seat and followed his CEO.  Benson exchanged a look with Jordan as they trailed after him.  John waited for them to choose their seats—Chris snagging one of the arm chairs while Jordan went for the couch.  Benson was going to sit beside him to present a united front, but Carpinelli smoothly sat down on the couch next to Jordan—not so close as to be invading his personal space, but not far enough away for Benson to squeeze in without making it comically awkward.  Benson sat in the other arm chair and met Jordan’s eyes, giving him a small smirk before he schooled his features.  Jordan’s face was passive, but his eyes were basically telling Benson that he was flicking him off on the inside.

“You’re early, John,” Chris started not at all subtly.

“And a good thing too,” the man replied.  “You’re missing a key bit of information that will help direct your investigation in the right direction.”

Chris didn’t say anything, but his fingers curled around the arms of his chair.  Jordan took the opportunity to scoot a little farther away from John by turning toward him.

“What information is that, Mr. Carpinelli?”

“Call me John, Jordan.”

Jordan swallowed and Benson scratched his nose to hide a smile.

“John,” Jordan said tonelessly.

“You’re all going off the assumption that our clients were led into making the decision to invest in certain securities and commodities.”

“Are you suggesting they all randomly picked bad commodities?” Chris asked with a barely concealed sneer.

“Of course not.  But you’re assuming that the advice came from our brokers.  Most of these clients came in with the idea to invest in certain things themselves.  In fact, three or four of our brokers had told us that it was odd that the clients came in with  _outside_  advice from some new website.  You see,” John addressed the agents, “that’s what they pay  _us_  for.  So, I looked over their files to see if there were any commonalities.  At first it seemed like a bit of a hopeless endeavor, but I did notice that about twenty percent of them use the same bank.  It’s not much, but it’s something.  I thought the FBI might be interested in looking at anything that might be a lead.”

“We are,” Benson confirmed.  “What bank is it?”

“It’s called Potomac First.  It’s not a national bank, but a local one.  One that might be more likely to have personal interactions with their customers.”

“We’d like you to provide a list of your clients who mentioned the website and who use this bank, which specific commodities that failed that they invested in, and the names of any of other financial institutions that the other victims used to conduct business.”

“I’ll get my assistant to begin pulling the information right away.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m happy to do anything that will assist in solving this mystery and bringing the guilty to justice.”

Benson cocked his head slightly at the odd sentence.

“Anything but share this information with your business partner,” Chris said icily.

“Chris,” John said, completely unruffled as he crossed his legs, his foot brushing Jordan’s shin.  “You know that when I said I looked through the client’s files I meant my assistant did.  He just gave me his findings this morning.  This is the earliest I could have brought it to your attention.”

John and Chris stared at each other and Benson and Jordan exchanged looks again.  This investigation was going to be a delight.

“Well,” Benson said, a little more loudly than was necessary but succeeded in drawing both businessmen’s eyes to him, “if you would get us the client information as soon as possible we would greatly appreciate it.  In the meantime, we’ll—”

“I had another idea I’d like to discuss,” John said, interrupting him smoothly.

Benson raised his eyebrows.  “Yes?”

“I think an undercover operation would be the best way to ferret out any suspicious characters or nefarious plots.”

Benson kept his features schooled even though internally he was guffawing at John’s turn of phrase.

“I can understand how that sort of operation may benefit this case, and we certainly won’t eliminate any options this early on, but at this time we have no plans to—”

“I’m sure Jordan could do it,” John said, turning his full attention on Benson’s partner and giving him a Mona Lisa smile.

“Uh…” Jordan intoned dumbly, clearly caught off guard.

“Mr. Carpinelli.”  John turned his attention to Benson.  “If the FBI decides to run an undercover operation, it will not be because you requested it.  Furthermore, the real FBI doesn’t work the way it does on TV.  A quick montage and scene change doesn’t make everything prepared for that kind of operation, and the handsome lead is not the one who goes undercover.  We have agents especially trained in these sorts of matters and one of them would be tasked.”

“Besides,” Jordan said, finally finding his voice, weak though it was, “people have seen me here.  They would know I’m a Fed.”

“All people know is that two people in suits came in for an interview.  One of you got the job.”

“We introduced ourselves to the receptionist as FBI.”

“I’ve been meaning to fire her.”

Jordan gaped at him for a moment, and then turned to Benson for help.

“We appreciate your input, Mr. Carpinelli, and we’ll take it under advisement.  Now, if you can provide us with the information your assistant pulled on your clients and the recent activity on their accounts, we’ll get out of your hair and begin our investigation.”

Benson stood up and Jordan swiftly followed.  Chris stood as well and John must have decided he’d lost the argument since he got to his feet and led the way to the main office doors.  Outside in the hallway they encountered two anxiously waiting personal assistants who immediately attached themselves to the side of their respective boss.  John gave orders to his assistant to bring the client files down to the sixteenth floor copy room and he scurried off.  Chris’s assistant eyed Benson and Jordan with barely disguised hostility until Chris asked him to retrieve the information on the banking institutions that had a relationship with the company.

“I apologize for Dylan’s behavior,” Chris said softly as they entered one of the elevators.  “He’s a little on edge because of the rumors—” Chris glared at John who ignored him “—that this incident has us considering hiring a completely new administrative staff as a precaution.  He probably thinks you were interviewing for his position.”

“A little fear can be a great motivator,” John said as the elevator arrived on the sixteenth floor.

Chris opened his mouth but the doors slid open and John ushered Jordan out with a hand at the small of his back.

“Chris, please take Benson to the copy room.  That’s where I told Brock to meet you.”

Benson began to follow Chris, and then hesitated, confused as John led Jordan in the opposite direction and toward the large open space of the office.  There were several desks scattered throughout the room and a few low partitions, but no true cubicles.  Nearly three score people were milling about, chatting softly, laughing, while a couple appeared to actually be sitting at their desks and working.

“Hello, everyone!” John called out.  Everyone in the room quieted down immediately and gave John their undivided attention.  “How’s the market today?”

There was a chorus of negative, positive, and neutral responses.

“Could be worse, but could be better then.”

The crowd murmured assent like John had just delivered some inspirational oration.

“Everyone, this is Jordan Bell.  He’s going to be QC-ing our process and acting as a fact checker.  You asked for one, and I’m delivering.”

There was a generally positive response to John’s announcement, if one didn’t look at Jordan’s shocked expression or Benson’s positively livid one.

“Don’t look so surprised, Jordan,” John laughed.  “Though I guess I should have told you that you had the job before I told all of them.”

The office workers laughed and John clapped Jordan on the back.

“Alright, back to work.  You’ve wasted enough of my money as it is.”

“You mean your clients’ money!” someone called out jokingly.

“Same difference,” John shrugged, earning a few more chuckles.  He started to lead Jordan back toward Benson and Chris, and Benson met and held John’s eyes all the way across the floor.  John smiled mildly when he reached them.  “Just laying down the foundation.  Should you decide to use it,” he added innocently, putting up a hand like the decision was completely up to Benson.

Benson turned away from him and Chris was giving him an apologetic face.

“Where are the files?” Benson asked, massaging his throbbing temple with two fingers.

Twenty minutes later Jordan and Benson were loading two cardboard file boxes into the back of the Taurus.  Benson slammed the trunk down and Jordan looked on blandly.

“Well.  That was an experience,” Jordan said dully.

Benson was too annoyed to even acknowledge John Carpinelli.

“You don’t think he could, I don’t know, force me to do it somehow, do you?” Jordan asked.

“No way.  The FBI doesn’t take orders from private citizens.  He’s just one of those overly privileged rich guys who has never been told no in his life.  Don’t worry.  We’ll solve this the old fashioned way.”

“The old fashioned way?” Jordan asked, quirking a smile as he opened the passenger side door.  “You mean getting someone who knows computer stuff to find it out for us?”

“Exactly.  Now get in the car.”

~~~

Jordan looked down the sight of his gun and unloaded the entire eighteen round magazine of his Glock 19 into the paper target at the end of the firing lane.  Next to him Benson flicked the switch that sent the target rushing back along the zip line to where they stood.  Jordan removed his protective earmuffs and eyeglasses and let his eyes roam over the hole where the paper target’s heart used to be.  Benson set his earmuffs down on the counter and then took the target out of the clip.  Jordan reloaded while Benson examined the paper face on which Jordan had drawn exaggerated lips and eyelashes.

“So, I see when you said you’d ‘gotten over it’ you were…”

“Full of shit,” Jordan mumbled and cocked the gun.  Instead of putting his safety equipment back on, he set the gun down and leaned against the counter.

“She said she didn’t think it was even worth trying.”

Jordan closed his eyes and sighed heavily.  It still made his chest squeeze tight to remember the things Ann had said.  He had been convinced that he was more than half in love with her and she didn’t think he was worth the same effort as a Netflix subscription.

“You know,” Benson said, softly, carefully, “Oska said something similar to me too.  When he was in the hospital in Elton after…everything.  He said that he was so scared of the relationship failing that he’d rather not try at all.”

Jordan looked up at Benson.  He’d thought it had been strange that for about a month after they had caught Russ that Benson hadn’t said a word about Oska.  He’d started to wonder if something had gone wrong between them, but then Benson had announced that they were living together and Jordan assumed everything had been rosy from the start.

“I didn’t know that you two had—” Jordan groped for the right expression “—stopped seeing each other after we solved the case.”

Benson’s expression was composed, but sad.  “Yeah…he, um, wasn’t ready to deal with relationship stuff on top of everything else that had happened to him that year.  And finding out about Bunny and a colleague’s betrayal and—whatever it is that Russ did to him…”

Jordan bit his lip to keep from asking the obvious question: What had Russ done to him?  Jordan had the sneaking suspicion that even Benson didn’t know.

“But anyway,” Benson continued, “he said he realized that being in a relationship wouldn’t be a burden, but a help.  Or at least, that’s the way I choose to interpret it.  Otherwise he’s simply using me as a way to escape his past and not think about it and I—I, um.  So, when did you last speak with Ann?”

“Three months ago.  That phone call I told you about.”  Jordan put the safety glasses back on.

“And you never tried calling or emailing her about it again?  After she’s had some time to think?  To settle into Boston?  She might be ready—”

Jordan plopped the earmuffs over his ears and Benson’s voice became a garbled drone.  He clipped another target (without embellishments) on the line and sent it flying to the back of the lane.  Benson stepped back and put his equipment back on, scowling unhappily.  Jordan ignored him and picked up his gun.  He practiced shooting the target twice in the chest and once in the head over and over until the magazine ran out.  He removed his safety equipment again as the target zipped up the line.  There was only one hole in the chest, but it was fairly large, and the head shots were all over the place, though at least all inside the head.  It was still shitty shooting.  He groaned in frustration.

“I’ve got to get over this, but I don’t know how,” Jordan admitted as he ejected the magazine to make sure it was empty and that the chamber was cleared of all rounds.

“Well, if you won’t take my  _good_  advice to call Ann and talk to her again—”

Jordan frowned at him as he holstered his empty weapon.

“Then take the bad advice of the fastest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

Jordan laughed softly and tossed his targets in the recycling bin behind them.

“Are you telling me I need to get laid?”

“I am telling you that you need to get laid.”

“Well considering how you nearly ripped Bob’s head off a couple of days ago, I’d say you probably need to get laid soon too.”

Benson grinned.  “I’m surprising Oska by driving down to Quantico this weekend.”

Jordan smiled, catching Benson’s infectious happiness.  “Yeah?”

“Yep.  There’s a Holiday Inn a couple miles up 95 and an IHOP across the street.”

Jordan laughed.  “Sounds like it’ll be—sticky.”

Benson laughed and Jordan was pretty sure he blushed too.  He really was happy that Benson and Oska had found each other.  They seemed good for each other.  Of course they’d been apart almost as long as they’d been together since Oska had moved in, but at the very least Jordan could say that Benson was undeniably happy when his boyfriend was around.  If he ignored moments like the one not long ago when Benson had accidentally voiced his fear that Oska was repressing his trauma rather than dealing with it.  Jordan wished he could say or do something to help, but he was at a loss of how to even broach the subject.

“So, uh, are you going to take Friday off?”

Benson’s expression immediately sobered, his mouth tightening with some strong emotion.

“No.  I’m not going until Saturday.  I have to make one of my ‘visits’ to Russ.”

Jordan made a face, but didn’t respond right away.  Benson sighed in annoyance.

“Not you too.”

“Come on, Benson.  Don’t act surprised.  All he does is upset you.  Which upsets Oska, and everyone else, honestly.  He’s not giving out any useful information.  You’re just giving him an undeserved amusement.”

“We arrested Nick Tirro, Greg Hampton, and Pamela Paulson.  The three people who helped him with the DC murders.  That’s not nothing.”

“I know, you’re right, it’s not.  But he hasn’t given you anything since you got the prosecutor to agree not to seek the death penalty.  You keep visiting him, almost every week, and he teases you with information but never gives you anything.  He just likes seeing you.  He’s obsessed with you, Benson.  He—”

“You think I don’t know that?” Benson snapped.  “You think I can sit in that room with him without my skin crawling as he smiles at me and pulls against his restraints to try to touch me?  I’m not doing it for fun!”

Jordan lowered eyes.  “I know.  I’m sorry.”

They were silent for a moment as they focused on checking their weapons again.

“Look, man,” Benson said, “find your balls, okay?  You’ll need them either to call Ann or get some strange.  Just stop moping; it’s bad for you.”

As crass as it was, it was good advice.  He could either fix things with Ann or move on from her.  He couldn’t try to hide himself from it forever by wrapping himself up in hurt and bitterness.

“You’re right.  Enough is enough.  We’ve got a case to focus on and I need to handle my own business.”

“Glad to hear it,” Benson said as they gathered their belongings and began the walk down the long corridor to the front office.  “And, hey, this case may help you solve that problem.  It’s very similar circumstances to Elton when you think about it.”

“How so?” Jordan asked dubiously.

“Well, there’s this guy who could potentially be a suspect in the case, but he’s also totally into you.  Maybe Carpinelli can be your Oska.”

Benson flashed him a shit-eating grin and dodged the hand Jordan thrust at him.

“Remick, do not think for a second that I won’t shoot you in this empty corridor and then tell everyone it was an accident.”

Benson laughed and Jordan scowled at him.

“Besides, it wouldn’t the same.  Oska wasn’t into you.  You had to crawl at his feet for weeks for him to pay attention to you.”

Benson tsked.  “Not at all.  Oska wanted me the moment he saw me.”

“You know I can have that information verified, right?” Jordan asked with a laugh.  “Shall we call him?”

“Okay, maybe not the  _first_  moment.  But if he ever says that it was all me and he eventually gave into it—he’s totally lying.”

“Sure, sure,” Jordan placated Benson.  He knew Benson was a little sensitive about the fact that he was so completely and utterly wrapped around Oska’s finger, so occasionally, he let it slide.

The two men signed out of the firing range and walked together to the parking lot.  After dropping off the Files from Klein & Klein at the office, they had driven separate cars to the range.  Benson gave him a friendly pat on the back and a look that he knew meant, “Call Ann.”  He just waved goodbye to the agent he now considered to be his best friend and got into his Bu car.  He absently checked his phone before turning the keys in the ignition, and then fumbled it as he saw he had a message.  Excited he opened his voice mail, wondering if Ann had decided to call him.

“Agent Szustakowski,” John Carpinelli purred in his ear.  “It was a pleasure to meet you this afternoon.  I hope we can resolve this case quickly and discreetly.  And if there’s anything I can do for you, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me.”

Jordan let out a small huff of laughter.  One because it was kind of pathetic how much he’d been hoping that had been Ann, and two because he’d never been  _propositioned_  before.  And while that message could be taken totally at face value, he wasn’t some naïve little straight boy who couldn’t recognize when he was being hit on.  He supposed he felt flattered.  John was rich, powerful, and good looking—but Jordan just couldn’t fathom being attracted to the guy.  He supposed his bicuriosity didn’t require any thought after all.  Of course, maybe John just wasn’t his type.  Benson was an insanely beautiful man, but he couldn’t think of him like that because he was like a brother.  Thinking about Oska in that way was just wrong—you don’t scam on your brother’s girl or your like-a-brother’s man.  Rules were rules.  Chris Klein had been cute.  Tall, nice cheekbones…

Jordan shook himself.  What the fuck was he doing sitting in a dark, empty parking lot thinking about men?  He was going to blame all this on Ann and call it a night.

 

**Wednesday, July 9, 2014**

 

The next day Jordan was the first one on his squad to get to work, which wasn’t unusual.  A lithe Asian man in his late 20’s arrived second, beating Benson, and groaned when he saw the boxes of files and requests for research on all the victims, the stocks they bought, and the banks they used.

“I can't believe you dupes walked out of there with paper files," Ainsley groused as he gave the boxes a baleful look on his way to his desk.

Jordan just grinned and continued to search through the CHS database to see if there were any sources belonging to other squads that they might be able to task.  They had about ten minutes of blissful calm to work before their SSA entered the space, cursing up a blue storm.

“Szustakowski!  I mean, sorry, Sutatawksti, I need to you see in my office.  Now!”

Ainsley peeked over the divide, clearly curious about what he had done, but Jordan gave him no clues.  He walked into Bob’s office and saw Benson was already seated.

“I take it you told him about what Carpinelli did yesterday?” Jordan murmured as he took a seat in the chair beside Benson.

“Are you two completely incompetent?” Bob started before he even got the door slammed shut.  “You just let some bozo executive task Jordan with an undercover mission?!”

“We didn’t at all,” Benson protested.  “We told him in no uncertain terms that neither of us was qualified for such an operation and that he didn’t have the authority to request one.  I told him the Bureau would assess the situation and come to the decision of whether or not—”

“It doesn’t matter what you  _said_ , it only matters what you  _did_.  And you didn’t leave there with the situation under control.  He’s already called asking the backstopping unit for Jordan’s cover story so that he can make him work credentials!”

“So tell him to fuck off,” Benson shrugged.

Jordan barely refrained from looking at Benson and rolled his lips in to mitigate any expression he might make.

“John Carpinelli doesn’t have the authorization to task the FBI,” Benson continued.  “It doesn’t matter what he wants.”

“Oh, doesn’t it?  Did you know that he happens to be friends with Louis Freeh?  You know, the former Director of the FBI?  The one who still works in high profile investigative matters and can call in all kinds of favors?”

Jordan’s lips parted in shock.  “Are you kidding?  Carpinelli asked Freeh to ask for me to be placed undercover at his company?”

“Yes!” Bob roared like that was what he’d been explaining to them for an hour rather than having just told them.

Jordan saw Benson cover his face with a hand and mumble something.

“So,” Jordan said, still stunned, “I really have to do this?”

“’Have to’ is a phrase I’m sure  _they_  would never use.  But, yes, you have to do this.  The backstopping unit is working on your cover now and, Remick, you’re going to be his quasi-handler since you’ve already been seen at Klein & Klein.  This case is starting to get a lot of attention; you better be certain you don’t fuck this up.  Starting tomorrow you’re going to get a crash course in UC matters.  So today you better get your shit in order because Jordan is going to be stuck at Klein & Klein for most of this.  I hope this serves as a lesson to the two of you of how not to fuck up a simple interview!  Now get out!”

Jordan and Benson stood and left the office without offering up anything else in their defense.  Bob wasn’t in the mood to hear it, and honestly, Jordan wasn’t sure there was anything they could say to refute Bob’s claims that they’d messed up.  Although, he wasn’t convinced that they had.  Benson had a dark expression on his face and looked like he might bite the head off of the first person who spoke to him.  Jordan felt a little bad for being a coward and letting Ainsley take that bullet, but as he listened to Benson bark out questions to the Intelligence Analyst, he felt he’d made the right decision.

 

**Thursday, July 10, 2014**

 

Jordan groaned as he turned the flashcard over and saw that he’d confused his AFID birthday and college graduation dates.  Again.  None of the documents were official yet (it would still be a few days before they were), so he had some time to get this information memorized.  But he had to have it down so that he wouldn’t come off as suspicious and encourage anyone to go looking into his past.

They weren’t doing a full cover on him.  He had a social security number and name and address and place of birth, but if anyone actually tried to look up Jordan Bell of Rockville, Maryland, they would hit a dead end.  He technically had the names of his “parents” and some other facts, but they weren’t supported by any official documentation.  The reasons for the light cover were because they had to do it on such short notice and fortunately the situation wasn’t considered high risk.  If anyone discovered Jordan’s true identity, nobody was worried he’d be “disappeared” like the agents who risked their lives infiltrating the mob or motorcycle gangs.

Jordan picked up the card with his fake social security number on it.  He said the number out loud and turned the card over.

“Yes,” he whispered, making a small fist pumping gesture.

“Everything going well, Mr. Bell?”

Jordan looked up and saw Benson come into the room with a grin on his face.  He was trying to be obnoxious, but honestly Jordan was thankful that he wasn’t still scowling and slamming things around.  That probably had something to do with the fact that Bob was out of the office today.

Jordan sat back in his chair with a huff.  “Why Bell?” Jordan griped.  “Of all the names that he could have pulled off the top of his head, why did he pick Bell?”

Benson shrugged, but Jordan could tell it was a pretense; clearly he knew something.  He sat down and slid a box across the table to him.  Jordan caught the box and closed his eyes as he inhaled the delightful smells of pizza from Wise Guys down the street.

“I decided to do a little digging into our hosts,” Benson said as he opened his own box.  “Klein is clean.  Straight from high school to college to the company.  No arrests of any kind, even for minor infractions one might incur in one’s youth.”

“Such as?” Jordan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“ _Nothing_ ,” Benson replied.  Jordan vowed to pry that story out of him the next time they went drinking.  “Carpinelli is pretty squeaky too.  Nothing outside a few ethically questionable actions, which are of course perfectly legal, to advance his career.  I did find out he used to be married to a woman named Lisa.  She died of an illness several years ago.”

“Oh, that’s sad.”

“It is.  I get the impression he really loved her.  Got a huge statue-type grave marker for her in a graveyard near her hometown in New Jersey.”

“Well, either he really loved her or he felt guilty about something.”

Benson chuckled.  “Definitely a possibility.  But I’m going with love.”

“Why?”

“Her maiden name was Bell.”

Jordan took a moment to process that, and then he groaned and sat back in his chair, pizza abandoned.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.”

“Maybe it was just the first name that popped into his head,” Jordan said.

Benson nodded.  “Yeah, maybe.  I don’t think he meant anything by it.  In fact, I don’t think he wants you to be an undercover agent just because he wants to watch you bend over and pick up pens.”

Jordan made a face at him.

“I think he genuinely wants to find out what’s going on with his company.  An undercover agent would help, and you’re just a bonus.”

“Lucky me.”

“Could be,” Benson said with a cheeky grin.  “Just be responsible and use protection.”

Jordan made another noise of disgust and had to set aside the pizza again.

“Can you not?”

Benson chuckled.  “Sorry.  But in complete seriousness, don’t be afraid to use his interest in you to your advantage.”

Jordan frowned and picked at a pepperoni slice on his cooling pizza.  “Wouldn’t that be suspicious?  If I suddenly reciprocated?”

“Depends on how arrogant he is.  But, I just mean if you show signs that you’re ‘wavering’ or something, it might make him try harder and focus on giving himself opportunities to please you.  Potentially you could use that to do some snooping in areas that otherwise would be off limits.”

“Should we focus so heavily on him though?  I mean, you’re the one who said you didn’t think he was dirty.”

“I don’t.  But, I’ve been wrong before.”

Jordan had just picked up his slice to take a bite, but then put it back down as he thought about how Russ had yanked them around for weeks.

“I think we shouldn’t rule out that this is an inside job,” Benson said.  “It’s entirely possible that it’s a hacker or someone who has access to their bank accounts, but it just seems like someone at Klein & Klein is doing something to get all these people to invest in the same commodities.”

“Yeah, but isn’t that something they would know?  Carpinelli and Klein both said that there isn’t anyone who has worked with one hundred percent of the victims.”

Benson shrugged one shoulder.  “Which means one of them is lying, one of them is the one doing it, or someone is covering their tracks very well.”

“Oh is that all?  Well, you’ve narrowed it down so much we might as well wrap this up.”

Benson slightly rolled his eyes.  “Eat your pizza.  You’re cranky when you’re hungry.”

“I’m not cranky,” Jordan muttered, but tore off a large bite of his pizza with his teeth.  He chewed it noisily while Benson ignored him by messing with his Blackberry.

“Hey.  So when are we supposed to get those new Samsung phones?” Jordan asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“I don’t know, last year?  Which means we probably won’t get them until next year.”

“The exchange will probably be a nightmare.”

“No kidding.”  Benson picked up one of Jordan’s flashcards.  “So…what is your mother’s maiden name?”

“Waller,” Jordan said and took a sip from his perpetually present water bottle.

Benson bobbed his head.  “Good.  Now, what’s the difference between a security and a commodity?”

Jordan slumped down in his chair.  “I hate John Carpinelli,” he groused.

 

**Friday, July 11, 2014**

 

Benson’s knuckles were white as he clenched the pen in his hand too tightly while he signed his name on the visitor’s log.  The guard on the other side of the bulletproof glass accepted the clipboard and Benson’s driver’s license via a metal drawer that slid between the two sides of the wall.  He put a numbered visitor badge in the drawer and slid it back to Benson.  He was instructed to take a seat on one of the hard metal benches in the room until a guard came to get him.

Benson clipped the visitor badge onto the lapel of his jacket and sat down stiffly on a bench.  His hands were in fists where they rested on his thighs and his spine was ramrod straight.  He didn’t want to do this; he didn’t want to be here.  He wished he could just do what Jordan and Oska wanted and stop making these visits, but the possibility that there were other killers out there—potentially still active killers—was more than enough reason for him to suck it up.  Of course, if he never got any new information, what was the point of continuing with something that left him feeling depressed and violated for several hours if not days afterwards?  Without Oska around to comfort him, the cold, wrong feeling he got from his talks with Russ lingered well past the visits.

“Agent Remick?”

Benson looked up and saw a guard he’d never seen before.  He stood and shook hands with the man.  He looked young and very green.

“My name is Garner.  I’ll take you to the prisoner now.”

“Thank you, Officer Garner.  Will you be the one staying in with us?”

“Oh no,” the young man said with a nervous smile as he opened two doors in succession with different keys.  “This is only my second week on the job.  I’m still learning the ropes, acting as escort, that sort of thing.  Michelson will be the one in the room with you.”

“I see.”

Benson discreetly exhaled the tension in his body.  Whenever he had his visits with Russ, the man was in full wrist and ankle shackles and then chained to the table and the floor.  A guard armed only with a nightstick stood in the room with them, and that room was adjacent to the guards’ office in which anywhere from two to five other guards were only a few feet and a door away.  Even still Benson felt nauseated and unsafe when he was in the small room with Russ.  Knowing that an experienced guard would be in the room made him feel marginally better than if the new kid was given this duty.  Benson liked Michelson in particular.  He was steady and had a good head on his shoulders.  He also took his job very seriously, which Benson heard was because there had been an incident with an escaped convict out of the prison he used to work at in LA.

Russ was already seated and chained to the table when they arrived and Benson couldn’t ever figure out if Russ getting there before or after him made him more nervous.  Benson swallowed the bile rising in his throat and kept his eyes averted as he walked into the room and took a seat in the metal chair on the other side of the table.  He pulled it out to create more distance between him and Russ, but pretended like he only did so that he could cross his legs.  Russ just smiled at him with amusement, like he knew how he made Benson feel.  Well, of course he did.  Benson couldn’t hide it and Russ loved it.

Russ wore a navy blue jumpsuit with his prisoner number stitched onto the right breast.  His hair was cut short and he’d started shaving once he’d entered prison.  It was both easier and harder to deal with him without the beard.  On the one hand, it made it easier to pretend this was a different man than the one Benson had worked with and trusted for months in Elton.  On the other, it made him appear younger and handsomer and even more capable of brainwashing and manipulating people.  His brown eyes glittered with delight as they moved over Benson’s face.  Benson placed a notebook on the table and cleared his throat.

“Good afternoon, Little.”

“We’ve talked about this, Benson.”

Benson made eye contact.  “Russ.”

“Good man,” Russ replied.  “That’s how adults talk.  We make eye contact.  We address each other by our proper names.”

“Oh, so you want to do this how mature adults would?”

Russ grinned.  “I want to do a lot of things that mature adults do.”

Benson clenched his jaw and held back an angry retort.  “Really, Russ?  What happened to everything being about sex is cliché and disappointing?”

Russ laughed.  “Well, that was when I was still on a steady diet.  They don’t fight it here, you know?  The little bitches figure out who’s strong and offer themselves to you.  It’s really not any fun.”

“You’re a ‘strong one’ inside, Russ?  Are you sure the former enforcers for the drug cartels in there with you aren’t making you their little bitch?”

Russ’ smile didn’t waver.  “Are you worried about me, Ben?”

Benson ground his teeth together and actually took the time to count to ten.  Then he exhaled slowly.  “Please, Russ, if you won’t call me Agent Remick, Benson is my name.”

“Of course,” he said softly.

“Quite frankly your sexual exploits inside don’t interest me—”

“They don’t?  Not even a little?”

“The only thing I care about is finding and incarcerating your other disciples.  You promised you’d be helpful if I spared you, Russ.  You’re not holding up your end of the bargain.”

“I’m not?  Hmm.  Three arrests and my testimony at their upcoming trials would indicate otherwise.”

“But they’re not the only ones, are they?  You told us there were people all over the country.  Were you lying, Russ?  To make yourself seem big and important since you’ve always been  _little_  all your life?”

The first flash of irritation flickered in Russ’ eyes.

“They’re out there.  I don’t lie.”

Benson snorted.

“Not anymore.  What’s the point now that I’m caught?”

“Because you’re an asshole, Russ.  You’re a sociopathic asshole who likes to jerk people around.  You’re bored in jail and these visits are the only thing you have in your life that makes you feel like you have something still worth living for.  I frankly don’t care about your mental wellbeing.  If we only do this to keep you amused, I’m going to stop.  Our little chats don’t amuse me and you’re not being useful to me.  I see no reason to continue coming to see you.”

“Really?  You think I’m that dumb?  You think you can fool me into believing you don’t want to be here with me?  That you don’t want to know why you’re so special.  Why you were chosen by someone like me?”

For the first time, Benson felt the tiniest flicker of pity for the man in chains across from him.  He let all of the contempt and sarcasm drain out of his features and met Russ’ eyes.

“No, Russ, I really don’t care.”

Benson stood up and Russ moved, causing his chains to clink loudly.  Michelson took a step forward, and Russ stopped moving.

“Wait, Benson, wait!”

“What is it, Russ?”

“You keep coming because you think I can give you useful information about unsolved cases.”

It was a statement and not a question, so Benson didn’t respond.

“That’s all you want?  Information and you’ll keep coming to see me?”

Benson felt a wave of dread pass through him.  It was pretty much the same deal that had had him visiting Russ ever since he’d been transferred to Virginia.  It wasn’t something he felt that he could turn down, but then again for the past few weeks Russ hadn’t given him anything useful.

“Not just any information, Russ.  You have to give me the kind of information that will lead to an arrest.  Or to the recovery of any missing persons.  Or to solving a cold case.  No riddles, no clues to follow.  Just facts that get results.  That will make this worth it.  Nothing else will.”

Russ sat back in his chair and his hands fell to his lap.  He was moving his arms minutely and Benson had the sneaking suspicion that he was massaging an erection.

“Sit down, Benson,” Russ commanded softly.

“I told you—”

“Sit down or you get nothing.”

Benson glanced at Michelson; he could tell that the man was judging him for letting the psychopathic killer boss him around even this much.  He repressed a sigh and the embarrassment he felt at having someone witness this, but he sat back down in the chair.

“I’ll offer you a deal,” Russ said.

“That’s not how this works, Russ,” Benson said, getting exasperated.  “I’m here.  That’s the deal.  That’s all you get.  If you want me to keep coming back, you have to give me useful information in return.”

“What I am getting out of it if we don’t talk, Benson?  You come in, I tell you what you want to know, and then you leave—that’s not giving me anything.  That’s not enough to make me want to rat out my disciples.  Your pretty face simply isn’t enough.  I’m never going to get parole or time off for good behavior.  I’m here until I die; I know that, so there’s nothing else I need from you.  You got the death penalty off the table and that’s why I gave you the DC disciples.  But I have no reason to sell out those others who trust and love me if I’m not getting anything for it.”

“What do you want from me?” Benson snapped, his carefully won control fraying at the edges.

Russ smiled and Benson shuddered.

“What I want from you, Benson…mm, I probably can’t have that.  At least not until you admit that you want it too.”

Benson clenched his hands together and his whole body tightened with discomfort.

“But, if I can’t have that—I want every other part of you.  You’re going to talk to me about your life.”

“No.  No way.  I’m not talking about my family or my job or even my fucking dog.  I’m not going to do that.”

“You got a dog?”

Benson let out a noise of aggravation, unable to continue repressing his reactions to Russ.

“Russ—”

“I’ll make it easy for you today, Benson.  I’ll give you some very important information, and all you have to do is tell me about your dog.  Nothing more.”

“That’s it,” Benson stated firmly.

Russ sat back in his chair again, but his hands were above the table at least.  “That’s it.”

“She’s a Weimaraner.”

“Those are the grey ones?”

“Yes.  She’s about four years old and her name is Charlie.”

“Charlie?”  Russ sighed.  “I hate when people use gendered names with the wrong sex just to make it sound cool or edgy.”

Russ gave him a disappointed look.  Benson almost punched him.

“I didn’t name her.  And I think Charlie is a reference to the Army code for the letter C.  She was an Army dog and served in Afghanistan for a couple of years.”

“Ohhh.  She sounds more impressive than people who go after the fact to clean up and take all the credit for saving the world.”

Benson knew that was a slight aimed at Oska, but he creased his brow like he was mildly confused.

“I guess,” he replied.  “She’s a little antsy because of her time overseas, but she’s a good dog.  I haven’t had her long so I don’t have much to say about her.”

“Why did you decide to get her?”

Benson hesitated.  He didn’t know how much information Russ could mine from this story, but he knew this simple request for information about his dog was a way for him to learn more intimate details of Benson’s life.  He considered lying and saying “just because,” but he wanted to see how serious Russ was about the information exchange.

“My ex-girlfriend had put us on a wait list to adopt a former military dog.  The wait list was so long that we had broken up and I’d forgotten about it by the time they called me.  I went out to visit the place and decided to take Charlie home.”

“Ex-girlfriend.  You cheated on her with the little thief?”

For a moment Benson didn’t know what Russ was referencing.  Then he remembered the fading, white brand over Oska’s heart.  His blood ran cold and he squeezed his left hand into a fist so hard he heard something pop.

“No.  We had been broken up for six months before I went to Elton.”

“But the thief turned you gay?”

“No.  I’m bisexual.”

“What’s the thief up to?”

“That has nothing to do with my dog, Russ.”

“What’s the thief up to, Benson?”

“I don’t know,” he hissed.  “He dumped me.”

The hard look on Russ’ face melted into pleased amusement.  “Really?  Man, I knew he was stupid, but that’s ridiculous.  I mean, I could see you kicking him to the curb once you found out what he’s really like, but I can’t imagine he wouldn’t cling to you like a parasite for as long as he could.  Maybe he felt—used.  Unclean.  Maybe he felt it would be wrong for someone as pure as you to touch him anymore.”

Benson was on his feet before he realized it and he just barely managed to get his body to turn and press his hands onto the wall rather than strangle Russ.  He could be lying.  Probably was lying.  It’s what he did.  But the implication that he'd done something to Oska, that he had violated him, hurt him—it was more than he could bear.  He turned around and was somewhat gratified that Russ’ eyes widened in mild fear at Benson’s expression.

“Still hung up on him, huh?  Just find some tail and you’ll get over it.”

“Give me something useful or I’m leaving and never coming back, Russ.  I won’t even attend your trial.”

Russ held up his cuffed hands in a placating gesture.

“Okay.  You earned it.  Do you remember that on the night of Marissa Mueller’s death, Leanne Woliczak was killed by her boyfriend?  The man the locals so colorfully referred to as the Squirrel Licker?”

Benson didn’t remember that the deaths had occurred on the same night, but he did remember hearing the Squirrel Licker scream in the holding cell for hours.  He gave a curt nod.

“Squirrel Licker kept saying he was framed, didn’t he?  Guy wasn’t lying.”

Benson slumped against the wall.  “What did you do?”

“Me?  Nothing.  I was at the Mueller scene, remember?  But I had Hannigan do it to make up for the sniveling mess he made at the police station over his slut’s death.”

Gilbert Hannigan, the Elton disciple, had been having an affair with Sarah Vanderpool which resulted in Russ killing and dismembering her.  Benson remembered it perfectly.

“If that’s true, why did you tell him to change the pattern?  Why frame someone and not let the Angel Slayer take credit?”

“Hannigan needed to be taught a lesson.”  Russ shrugged.  “I didn’t like Leanne and putting the Squirrel Licker behind bars was, quite frankly, doing everyone a favor.”

Benson looked at Russ’ face carefully, looking for any signs of deception.

“That’s the truth?”

“Ask the Elton PD about the ligature marks on Leanne’s body.  Her legs and arms were tied crossed behind her body.  The accelerant used to start the fire was poured in a circle around her body then on her hair.  The fire was started in her hair.”

Benson straightened against the wall.  “You could have read the file.  You still worked there.”

Russ shrugged again.  “Why would I lie about this?”

“Because it won’t actually give us anything.  Because you could pretend to be helpful and then laugh that you helped set a guilty, crazed, squirrel-licking murderer free.”

Russ contemplated for a moment then made an “a-ha” face.  “I did read the report on Leanne’s death just to make sure Hannigan hadn’t left any evidence behind.  He was the worst disciple I’ve ever had, honestly.  Dumb as a box of hair.  Squeamish.  Was more interested in raping the victims than punishing them.  It’s why I had him do the male victims.  To temper some of that desire.  Didn’t always work, of course.”

“Russ.”

“Right.  In the report it mentioned that during the autopsy, Nic discovered some marks on her neck underneath the burned skin.  It didn’t say anything about a pattern or meaning.  They might have figured it out by now, or maybe if they look again they’ll realize that it makes really blocky letters spelling out ‘ardilla.’”

“Ar-dee-ya?”

“It’s Spanish for squirrel.”

Benson made a doubtful face.

“I told you Hannigan was a moron.”

Benson chewed lightly on his bottom lip as he observed Russ.  He was calm, not fidgeting, and making eye contact.  Michelson cleared his throat.

“I think time is up,” the guard said.

Russ remained seated as two other guards came into the room to unlock the chains from the table and escort him back to his cell.

“See you next week, Benson.”

“What will you give me next week?  Why should I come?”

Russ pretended to think by tilting his head up and making a “thinking” face.  As the guards led him out of the room he said over his shoulder, “Look up the Lubbock Lady Killer.  Name the media dubbed a killer in Lubbock, Texas.  It might make for an interesting cold case.”

Benson exhaled shakily as the door was shut behind him.  He didn’t need to look up the Lubbock Lady Killer murders.  He’d heard about them when he’d been at the academy.  Those kills were old.  Russ wouldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen when they had occurred.  They had been gruesome, but there hadn’t been any angel imagery or theme of divine punishment.  Then again, he said that he’d hidden the brands under the victim’s tongues most of the time.  The Lubbock Lady Killer murders were still one of the biggest unsolved mysteries in the country.  Russ could be yanking his chain, but the possibility that he could have some information on the cold case was more than enough to get Benson to come see him again next Friday.  He was just petrified at what Russ would ask for in exchange.

After he turned in his visitor badge and had his driver’s license returned, he asked one of the officers if there was a room he could make a private call.  They led him into one of the rooms where prisoners met with their lawyers, so there were no two way mirrors or recording devices.  He sat down heavily in one of the chairs at the banged up table and thumbed through his contacts on his phone.  He found Gus Lanoue’s number and tapped it to connect.

“Who is this?” Gus said in lieu of a greeting.  “This is a private number.  If you want the main police station office, you need to call—”

“Gus, Gus!  It’s Benson.  Remick.  From the FBI.”

There was a long pause.  “Benson?  Well, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s not a problem with Little’s case, is there?” he asked, tone suddenly full of trepidation.

“No, no, nothing to worry about there.  He’s still incarcerated and his trial date has been set for October.”

“Still won’t plead guilty?”

“No.  He wants to drag this out as long as possible.”

“I see.  Do you need something from us?  All of the evidence was transferred to your office already.”

Benson sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “No, this isn’t about the Angel Slayer case at all, really.  I’ve been talking with Russ, trying to get him to tell us about other murders or disciples he’s had around the country.”

“How’s that going?” Gus asked dryly.

“Well, depends on his mood, I guess.  Sometimes he’s helpful, most times he’s not.  But, uh, I have to ask you about an incident that happened when I was there.”

“What incident would that be?  You need someone to back you up with the Feds regarding your—thing—with Oska?”

“What?”  Benson blushed.  “Uh, no.  That’s not a problem.”

“Glad to hear it.  Have you heard from him?  I don’t want to alarm you, but he just up and left one day.  I mean I understand, I wouldn’t be able to live here anymore if all that had happened to me, but he kind of just disappeared.”

Benson was stunned.  Oska hadn’t told anyone in Elton where he was going or what he was doing?  That seemed odd that he’d cut ties with Elton so completely after living there his whole life.

“I, uh, yeah, I’ve heard from him.  He’s living…down here now.”

“Down there,” Gus repeated and Benson could hear the question in his voice.

Benson cleared his throat.  “With me.”

“Ah.  I see.  Well, I’m glad to know he’s okay.”  Gus paused.  “He is…okay, right?”

“Yeah, yeah.  He’s good.  It’s just, it was kind of hectic when he moved in and my family was a little resistant to the idea of him moving in so suddenly and he got into the FBI Academy and that process kind of took over his life and he’s at Quantico now, so it probably just slipped his mind to let you guys know what was going on.”

“I see,” Gus said in a neutral voice.  “As long as I know he’s okay, I can pass on the message to everyone else.  So, if not about Oska, why did you call?”

“Um.  Right.  While I was there, the, uh—I never knew his real name.  The Squirrel Licker?”

“Chad Bates.”

“Right.  Well, he was arrested for killing his girlfriend and setting her on fire.”

“Yes,” Gus said carefully.

“Does he still maintain his innocence?”

Gus inhaled so deeply Benson could hear it over the phone.  “He does.  He even agreed to go back on his medicine so he could talk calmly with us.  He claims that someone roofied his drink and left him passed out in the backseat of his car while Leanne was murdered.  That’s why he doesn’t have an alibi.”

“Did you—did anyone ever determine if the marks on Leanne’s neck meant anything?”

“How did you—never mind.  Nic and one of the techs did have an argument about whether they were letters or not.  Nic said no because why would he write armadillo on the back of her neck?”

Benson sighed and slouched down.  “Ardilla, not armadillo.”

“What?”

“Russ told me that Hannigan carved ‘ardilla’ into her neck.  It’s Spanish for squirrel.”

There was silence on the other end of the line.  Benson waited, and then checked the phone to see if they were still connected.

“Gus?  You still—”

“That shit pissing manure pile!  Little did this?!”

“I think Hannigan did.  But under Russ’ orders.”

“Son of a sour-titted bitch!”

Benson quirked an eyebrow.  “Yeah.  All that and more.”

Gus cursed up a blue storm for nearly ninety seconds before he calmed down enough to say, “I’m going to have to make some phone calls and get some people on this immediately.  We’ll have to get a statement from Little.  I’ll call you about setting that up next week.”

“Okay.”

“Shit a brick.”  Gus sighed heavily.  “Thank you, Benson.  I know dealing with him can’t be easy, but if Chad is innocent…”

“It’s worth it,” Benson said.

“Alright.  Take care.  I’ll reach out to you next week.”

“Okay.  Talk to you then.”

They disconnected and Benson stayed sitting in the chair.  He wished that potentially rescuing an innocent man would be enough to make him shrug off the wrongness that seeped into his skin like a cold fog, but all he felt were phantom fingers tightening their hold on him.

The feeling didn’t lessen any during the drive home and Charlie must have sensed he was off because she wouldn’t leave her corner to greet him when he got home.  He did his best to put on a calm, friendly voice, but in the end he had to drag her out by the collar to get her moving.  Once she was on her feet and out in the open, she seemed aware that she needed to go outside and meekly followed him down to the front of the building.  He didn’t even attempt to take her for a walk around the block; he just let her do her business on the strip of grass out front and then left it there when he realized he was out of disposable poo bags.  A part of him was actually hoping someone would confront him about it because he was spoiling for a fight, but no one did.  He considered calling Oska, but considering his mood and the reason for it, all they would do is fight and that would ruin his plans for the weekend.

As he was unlocking the door to his apartment, he glanced down and noticed Charlie’s tail giving the barest of wags even though she was still hiding behind his legs.  He followed her gaze down the hall and saw his neighbor’s kid getting home from school.  It was after six o’clock; kids today really had too much going on with school, extracurricular clubs, and work.  However, Emma seemed to take it all in stride and was responsible to boot.

“Hey, Emma,” Benson called out.

Emma turned and pushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.  She smiled when she saw him and walked over to reach out a tentative hand to Charlie.

“Hi, Mr. Remick.  How is Charlie today?”

“Ah, well, a little nervous today.  Probably because I’m in a weird mood.”

Emma looked up with a concerned expression.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.  You know, just sometimes work feels like work.”

Emma laughed.  “Yeah.  I like school and everything, but sometimes I’m just like, no.”

Benson smiled.  “Exactly.  Oh, I’m glad I caught you.  I’m going to visit Oska this weekend.  Just a short overnight trip.  I was wondering if you could feed and walk Charlie while I’m gone.  Same payment as last time.”

“Yeah, no problem.  I’ll be here.  Although, what time are you leaving tomorrow?  I have a swim meet in the morning and won’t be done until noon.  So, I wouldn’t be able to take her out after 5:30 or before 1:00.”

Benson grimaced.  “I don’t know how you do it.  Wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go jump in cold water.”

Emma just grinned.

“Okay, well, I’ll take her out around nine or ten and leave then.  So if you don’t get back until one she’ll be fine.”

“Alright, sounds good.  I’ll take her for a walk around noon on Sunday, so give me a call if you won’t be back in time for dinner.”

“Will do.  You’re a lifesaver.”  Benson gave her a wink and she blushed as she rolled her eyes and walked back to her door.

“Goodnight, Mr. Remick.”

“Goodnight, Emma,” Benson said with a chuckle.

 

**Saturday, July 12, 2014**

 

Oska hopped up and grabbed a hold of the pull up bar.  He adjusted his grip a couple of times, then crossed his legs at the ankle and began a set of twenty pull ups.

One, two, three, he could feel his body already relaxing into the rhythm.  Four, five, six, muscle memory began to take over and his brain could start to shut down.  Seven, eight, nine, he felt the burn begin in his muscles, giving his mind something other than his life to focus on.  Ten, eleven, twelve, how many more weeks until he could see Benson again?  Thirteen, fourteen—he could force his body to be under control.  Seventeen, nineteen…his control and nobody else’s.  If he could just get strong enough, fast enough, he could forget it all.  He could get over it.  Because there was nothing to get over.  There was fucking jack all to get over.  Why was he so pathetic?  Nothing had happened.  Benson had saved him.

_Look at you.  Just as sick as I am.  What would Benson think if he knew?_

Oska gasped and his eyes flew open.  His sweaty palms slipped on the bar and the momentum of his weight coming down bore him to the ground with a loud thump.  Oska’s quiet hiss was his only verbal acknowledgement of the pain he was feeling in his buttocks and back.  He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Oska!  You okay?”

Oska looked up and was momentarily disoriented.  He saw a handsome white man with a medium build and brown hair looking at him with concerned brown eyes.  A moment later the world refocused and he recognized his roommate.

“Yeah, yeah.”  He patted his backside.  “Plenty of padding.  I just wouldn’t recommend trying it.”

Del smiled and held out a hand for him to grasp so that he could stand up.

“Did your arms give out?  You must have been on like your fortieth pull up.”

“Really?  I lost count.”

Del’s concerned expression was coming back.

“I was just in the zone, you know?” Oska preempted any more questions after his wellbeing.  “Then my hands got sweaty and I slipped off the bar.”

Del smiled.  “Yeah, been there.  I did gymnastics in college and I didn’t get enough chalk on my hands before a rotation on the parallel bars.  Totally slid right off and almost crashed into the judges’ tables.”

Oska smiled.  “I hope they gave you a ten.”

Del smiled wryly.  “They did not.  Come on,” he said, clapping Oska on the shoulder with a comforting hand.  “Let’s shower and get some grub.  We can still make it back to the dorm to change before the study session.”

Oska groaned and made a face as he followed Del to the locker room.  “I don’t know why I’m putting myself through this.  I’m an old man.  I should be sitting at a desk eating donuts.”

Del snorted.  “Please.  If your sex life with your boyfriend is in any way as athletic as it sounds over the phone, you better make sure you keep doing your cardio.”

Oska laughed and ignored the heat flaming through his face.  He really couldn’t believe how good a sport Del was about his highly inappropriate conversations with Benson when he thought he was being quiet.

“I didn’t mean the exercise, I meant the studying.”

“Sure you did.  Now don’t follow me into my stall.”

“I wouldn’t.  Not all non-straight men are so horny they go after any guy—oh.  Oh, I see.  I’m in your stall.  Apologies.  Can I borrow your shampoo?”

Del rolled his eyes but handed over a bottle that had some cheap brand of shampoo and conditioner in one.  Oska squirted some into the palm of his hand and then handed the bottle back to his roommate.  He found an empty stall and got the curtain pulled shut and the water turned on with one hand.  He held his hand awkwardly as he undressed, only dribbling a little bit onto the floor.  Then he held the remaining shampoo out of the spray as he allowed the lukewarm water to cascade over his tired muscles.  It wasn’t as nice as the shower he shared with Benson (and it certainly wasn’t as nice as that luxury shower in his parents’ former house), but it was good enough for now.

Good enough for now.

That had become his new motto.  He wondered what would happen when either or both of those things weren’t true anymore.

Oska shook himself from those thoughts.  If he dwelled on what would happen if—and he could never quite bring himself to fill in the if—he more often than not found himself in a funk that had gotten him in trouble twice already with the academy instructors.  In New Agent Class, no one was allowed to have an off day.  You followed your schedule and your instructors’ orders and you did it with enthusiasm.

Oska lathered up his hair and used the residual suds to soap down his body and wash away the sweat.  After a quick, but thorough rinse, he changed into his spare workout outfit—regulation grey top, blue bottom—and waited for Del to finish.  The young man was singing softly and Oska never teased him for it because he thought that would make him too self-conscious to keep doing it.  He had a nice voice, and Oska enjoyed listening to it.  It was a way to feel like he wasn’t trapped at Quantico all the time.  He knew that was a bad mentality to have about his situation, but he couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t the same person who went through the police academy in his twenties.  Then, the militaristic style of training hadn’t bothered him; now he felt like he was just going through the motions until he could escape.

“You okay, Oska?”

Oska started as his vision cleared and he looked up at Del who was not only out of the shower, but dry and dressed.

“Yeah.  Geez.  I must be more tired than I thought.  Maybe I should skip the study session and take a nap.”

“Well, you can probably afford to.  I’ve just never been good when it comes to written tests, you know?  I have to scrape and scour for every single point.”

“Don’t worry,” Oska said, giving him a cheeky smile.  “So long as you know which way to point your gun, you’ll be fine.”

Del scoffed.  “I’m not trying to be a New York City cop, here.”

Oska laughed, and then shushed Del.  “Quiet.  I don’t want Donnie hearing you talk shit about New York.  Last time I said something about it I got a twenty minute lecture on how awesome the city is.  His accent actually got thicker.”

Del laughed.  “Is that possible?”

“You want to find out, you go right ahead.”

“I think I’ll pass.”

They laughed at each other’s stories of their experiences with their fellow new agents as they walked across campus to the cafeteria.  The food was decent, but repetitive.  That afternoon Oska couldn’t even bring himself to eat what was “freshly” prepared and made himself a salad and sandwich at the self-serve bar.  He honored his promise to Del to make him leave before he succumbed to his desire to get some of the soft serve ice milk even though he kind of wanted some himself.  Their dormitory was the closest one to the cafeteria, so their walk to their room was a short one.

They took the stairs to the fifth floor (because Del was a sadist) and Oska was pleasantly surprised to find that he was less and less winded every time he did it.  The hall was empty except for one figure in jeans and a T-shirt about midway down near their door.  Oska was focused on Del’s story about his niece, so he didn’t register the shape of the back and those bowlegs right away.  As soon as he did he burst into a sprint and Del let out a soft noise of surprise behind him.  Benson must have heard his feet pounding on the floor because he turned in just enough time for Oska to throw his arms around his neck and for his boyfriend’s arms to encircle him.

Benson laughed as he stumbled back and leaned into the wall next to them to steady his balance.  Oska couldn’t stop moving his hands over Benson’s wide back—from the gentle slope above his ass up to the nape of his neck, his fingers sliding in the fine hairs and making Benson shiver.  He turned his face into Benson’s neck and inhaled his soft, masculine scent.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” Oska breathed.  “God, I knew I missed you, but…shit.  I  _missed_  you.”

“Same here,” Benson replied, his hands still and resting at an appropriate place on his mid back.  Oska had no time for propriety and slid his hands back down and plunged them into the back pockets of Benson’s jeans, under his phone and wallet and gave his cute ass a little squeeze.  Benson let out a huff of laughter and gently pushed him back.  He made eye contact and nodded, indicating something behind them.  Oska turned and saw Del.

“Oh, Del, this is—”

“Benson, right?” Del interrupted, offering Benson a hand and a smile.  Benson shook hands with him.  “I believe I’ve heard that name screamed once or twice.”

Oska grinned as Benson flushed red.  He cleared his throat.

“Sorry about that.  He always says he’s alone.”

“I do not,” Oska said.

“It’s alright,” Del laughed.  Then made an odd face.  “Mostly.  Anyway.  I’m going to change clothes, and then I’m going to go to the study session.  I should be gone for a couple hours, but put a sock on the door in case I come back early, okay?”

Benson looked down at the floor, so Oska gave him an affirmative answer.  They stayed in the hall while Del changed and Oska appreciated the fact that his embarrassment couldn’t stop Benson from brushing his thumb over his cheekbone.  Oska turned his head and caught Benson’s thumb with his teeth, giving him a look from underneath his lashes.

“Hang on, babe,” Benson scolded him teasingly.

Oska let go and waited patiently, utterly behaving himself (minus one hand which had migrated to Benson’s back pocket again) until Del gave them an amused smile and hurried back down the hallway to the stairs.  Oska dragged his teeth over his lower lip as he backed into his room, pulling Benson after him, and debating what he wanted to do first.  Benson actually decided for him by grabbing his face and kissing him hard.  It was just a press of lips to make contact and they both groaned—just from a closed mouth, slightly unpleasant kiss.  Oska took another step back and stumbled over the corner of Del’s bed.  They lost their balance and fell in increments of knees and butts to the floor—Benson’s back pressed against Oska’s bed and Oska straddling his lap.  And that was good enough for Oska.  He kissed Benson for real and pushed his exercise shorts and briefs down enough to free his half-hard dick.

“Mm, Oz, not complaining—ahhnn, fuck.  But um.  Bed?”

Oska kissed Benson’s chin, then his jaw, then his neck as he used his hand to roughly pump himself to full hardness.

“Thought you said you were going to jump me and fuck me on the floor of my dorm,” Oska murmured.

“Mm, well, that’s hot in theory but we’ll kill our backs.”

“Shh,” Oska whispered against his lips and slipped two fingers into his mouth.  Benson sucked the digits, getting them wet, and then Oska returned his hand to his cock.  He started jacking himself hard and fast and sat up on his knees so he could look down at Benson.  Benson’s eyes were wide as he watched him.  Oska painted his thumb over Benson’s lower lip, and then slid his hand around to his neck.  Benson licked his lips and Oska moaned softly as he stared at the man he loved and touched himself.  He slid his hand up onto Benson’s scalp, grabbing a hold of his short hair.

Benson let out a noise between a gasp and a hiss as Oska yanked his head back and forced him to remain motionless while Oska pleasured himself on top of him.  Benson’s breathing grew shallow, mirroring Oska’s.  His pupils were dilated and Oska could feel the bulge of his erection when his knuckles grazed it on the downward strokes.  The fact that Benson was so turned on only ramped up Oska’s arousal.  He pumped his fist harder and let out a small noise of want as Benson whined desperately in the back of his throat.  Oska’s grip on Benson’s hair tightened as he felt the first wave of his orgasm hit him.  He kept his eyes open and breathed harshly as he saw his come soak into Benson’s T-shirt.  He finally gave in and closed his eyes to the sensations overwhelming his body, his hands loosening their grips.

Just as he stopped moving, Benson let out a needy sound and grabbed Oska’s hips.  He pulled him down so that Oska’s ass cradled his erection and ground up into his body.  And then he was coming too.  Oska could tell it wasn’t a mind blowing kind of orgasm, but that kind of throbbing, easy pleasure that comes from just barely getting enough stimulation to tip over the edge.  Benson exhaled and let his head fall back on the mattress.  Oska settled his weight in Benson’s lap and waited for his boyfriend to open his eyes.  When he did he smiled lazily at Oska.

“Hi.”

Oska chuckled.  “Hi.”

“Fuck, that was…”

“Sorry,” Oska said, feeling a little embarrassed.  “I just—I don’t even know what came over me.”

Benson rubbed Oska’s arms.  “No, don’t apologize.  You were fucking incredible.”

Oska’s face heated as he realized how crazed he must have looked.  He reached a hand up and threaded his fingers gently through Benson’s hair, rubbing his scalp.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“Not in any way I didn’t like,” Benson grinned accompanied with an eyebrow waggle.

Oska groan-laughed and plopped a hand on Benson’s face.  “Stop.”

Benson grasped his wrist gently and pulled his hand down.  “Oska, I was right there with you.  I didn’t just want you, I  _needed_  you.”

“Yeah, but, you didn’t get anything!”

“I came, didn’t I?  In my only pair of jeans I might add.  Oh, I probably should get my bag; it’s still in the hall.”

“Are you going somewhere?”

“Nope.  I came to get you.  I’m going to take you to a motel on the side of the highway and fuck you all night long.”

“Ah.  Ours is a relationship founded on romance.”

Benson grinned and Oska answered his smile, leaning down to touch their foreheads.

“You don’t have any mandatory training this weekend, do you?” Benson asked.

“Nope.  I’m all yours.”

“All mine.  I love that.”

“So do I.  Let me change clothes and grab a toothbrush.”

“Okay.”

They remained sitting, hands roaming reverently over each other.  Benson tilted his head up to kiss Oska’s lips.

“Gonna have to move, Oz.”

Oska sighed.  “I know.”

He forced himself to his feet and offered a hand to Benson to help him up.  They leaned into each other’s space for a long, reacquainting kiss.  Then Benson pulled back and gave Oska’s butt a slap.

“Get moving.  You got any tissues I can use to clean out my pants?”

“On the nightstand.”

“Of course.”

Oska pulled his clothes off and searched through his wardrobe for jeans and a T-shirt, completely at ease with his nakedness around Benson.

“Hey, can I actually leave?” Oska asked, hopping into his jeans sans underwear since he figured he wouldn’t be wearing clothes for long anyway.  “I didn’t fill out one of those forms for permission to leave campus.”

“I know Dan,” Benson said, making a face as he stuck a hand down his pants and presumably cleaned up the mess in his underwear, but with Benson, he could very well be going commando.  “He put you on the off campus list for me.”

“Good.  Because I was going with you whether I was technically allowed to or not.”

Benson smiled, tossed the used tissue in the trash, and then buttoned up his jeans.  He made a face as he looked at his shirt.

“Can I borrow a shirt?” Benson asked.

Oska had anticipated his request and had already pulled out his AC/DC t-shirt which was big on him and would probably fit Benson pretty well.  He tossed the shirt to him and felt a warm, pleasant sensation in his belly as Benson donned his clothes.

“We ready to go?” Benson asked as Oska zipped up a few toiletries into plastic bag and then sat on the bed to put on his socks and shoes.

“Yep.  Just let me get my shoes on.”

Benson leaned against Oska’s desk and Oska heard paper rustle as he picked something up.  He finished tying his second shoe and turned to look at Benson.  He had a smile on his face as he read something in one of Oska’s notebooks.  Oska sucked in a breath as he recognized the notebook and vaulted across the bed to snatch it out of his hands.  Benson saw him coming and moved easily out of the way, holding him at bay with one hand.

“You’re a poet, baby?” Benson smirked as he continued to read.

“It’s not—”  Oska reached for the book and was denied.  “It’s just for when I get bored.  It’s not like a thing or something.”

“’Through glass that squeaks and over bricks that dart/Stairs and glass and stairs/Past a pit, past a door and a door and a door closed./Through more glass and more stairs/A straight, meandering path and a crossing/The destination—a hollow, empty town.”

Oska frowned and scrabbled for the book again.  Benson let him take it.

“Is that about the walk from Jefferson to Hogan’s Alley?”

Oska looked up and met his eyes.  “You can tell?”

“Well, it is an obnoxious walk.”

Oska smiled and closed the book.  “I told you; sometimes I get bored.”

Benson pretended to pout.  “So, you write about walking around on campus, and not me?”

Oska held the book behind his back.  “On that page.”

Benson grinned and advanced on Oska.  “Am I in there?”

“No!”

Oska laughed as Benson lunged at him and they fell onto his bed, grappling for the notebook.  Oska took the opportunity when his arm was free to throw the notebook across the room.  He grabbed Benson by the shoulders when he tried to go after it and pulled him back onto the bed.

“I’m going to read it eventually,” Benson said, but allowed himself to settle back against Oska’s chest.

“Maybe.  Maybe you won’t want to after I scare you off with what I need to tell you.”

Oska was surprised when Benson’s body went completely rigid.  He pulled out of Oska’s embrace and turned to face him.  His expression was serious, but open.

“What do you need to tell me?  You know you can tell me anything, right?  You know that I want to know.  That I want to help you carry any burdens or…”

Benson trailed off and Oska was confused for only a moment longer.  Russ.  Benson was talking about Russ.  Like he would tell Benson anything about what had happened that night.  He shoved him playfully on the shoulder.

“Why so serious?” he asked.  “I meant it as a joke, like I would scare you off with talk of marriage.”

Benson sat back even farther, breaking contact.  Okay, so maybe talk of marriage would scare him off.  His face was neutral as he looked at Oska.

“I—Why would we discuss that?”

“Office assignments came out.”

Benson’s eyebrows shot up.  “Already?  I thought they didn’t do that until graduation.”

“They changed the policy, and they told us all where we were placed.  And you know I ranked everything on the east coast even remotely close to DC as high as I could—”

“And?”

“And I’ve been assigned to New York.”

Benson let out a long sigh.  “Yeah.  We knew that was a possibility.”

“Yeah.  So, I talked to the HR people about what it takes to get a hardship transfer or to be assigned to a specific office, and a relationship isn’t enough.”

“Yeah…” Benson said, like he already knew all this information.  Oska suspected he did.

“It has to be legal in some way.  I’m not even on the lease for your apartment, so we have nothing legally binding us together.”

“Right,” Benson agreed carefully.  Oska could see his eyes jumping around as he studied his face.  “But…if we had a legally binding relationship pending…If we were married or had plans to be married within ninety days of graduation, I could request to be assigned to WFO.”

Oska could see that Benson was trying to be very careful and neutral with his expressions, which was driving Oska nuts because he couldn’t tell if he was trying to cover his fear that Oska would ask for the marriage or his excitement that he wanted it.

“So…” Oska said, trying to draw Benson out.  He wouldn’t take the bait.  Oska huffed out a breath.  “So, should we get married?  Or at least engaged?  I don’t want to marry you for purely logistical purposes.  I mean, being able to stay near you and be afforded certain legal rights would be nice, but that’s not why people should get married.”

“I agree,” Benson said, still giving off nothing.

Oska scooted forward and looked Benson hard in the eyes.  “Everything about our relationship is unorthodox and moving very fast.  But I meant what I said that first morning in your apartment.  I think you meant what you said.  This is it.”  He waved a hand between them.  “This is everything.”

Benson nodded, a smile finally pulling at the corners of his mouth.  Oska relaxed slightly.

“So, when I ask you to marry me  _now_ , it is because I need it to get an assignment close to you, but I wouldn’t ask at all if I didn’t really want it.”

Benson’s smiled widened and turned a little smug.  “You asking me to make an honest man out of you, Oz?”

Oska narrowed his eyes.  “Reconsidering it now.”

Benson laughed and moved forward enough so that he could lean in and kiss Oska.  “We should get married.  For a lot of reasons.”

Oska nodded and kissed him back.  “We should.”

“Alright then,” Benson said and stood up.  He held out a hand for Oska and they laced their fingers together as they stood in the small dormitory room at the FBI Academy in Quantico.  “Now, I think it’s time we headed out so we can get pancakes and I can make love to my fiancé tonight.”

Oska grinned and poked Benson in his side.  “Make love?  So sappy!”

“Says the poet,” Benson shot back.

Oska smiled and leaned against Benson as they made their way to the door.  “Fiancé,” he mused aloud.

“But don’t think we’re having some sort of big ceremony,” Benson warned.  “Justice of the peace; a quick in and out.”

“So, like when we have sex,” Oska said innocently.

Benson glared at him.  “Careful, Oz.  You know how I love to prove you wrong.”

Oska smiled and nuzzled his nose against Benson’s cheek as he whispered, “I do.”


	2. Week 2

**Monday, July 14, 2014**

Benson clicked through the Excel spreadsheet Ainsley had made for him, looking for patterns or anything hinky that stood out as odd.  He was impressed with the kid’s data mining skills, and felt a little bad for thinking of the twenty-seven year old as a kid when he himself was barely over five years older than him.  Ainsley just exuded such a sense of happiness and excitement about life that was beaten out of most people by the time they reached adulthood.

Benson shook himself and scrolled back in the sheet as he realized he’d let his mind wander and hadn’t been paying attention to what he had been staring at.  He glanced at the time on the computer screen.  He made a face of disbelief when he saw that it was only 10:30 in the morning.  It felt like he’d already been at work for hours.  Clearly it was just going to be one of those days that dragged on and on.  The cause was probably the perfect weekend he’d spent wrapped around Oska, and now he was back to a reality where he might not see him again until he graduated.  Six more weeks.  It was nothing really.  Less than two months.  About the life span of a butterfly.  He had his niece to thank for that particularly random knowledge.

“Benson!”

Benson jumped and banged his elbow on the arm rest of his desk chair as he instinctually went for the gun on his hip.  He cursed softly and shook the sting out of his arm.  He glared up at Ainsley’s grinning face.  His dress shirt was an alarming shade of pink.

“Morning, Benson.”

“Ainsley.  Any particular reason why you’re popping up like a goddamn Whac-A-Mole?”

“I was just wondering if the spreadsheet is what you were looking for.  I was here all weekend mining that information from those files.  Though surprisingly, it was all very well organized and pretty easy to find the important bits.”

“I appreciate the effort.  You didn’t happen to notice anything while you were pulling it out, did you?  There’s so much here and counting how many times a name is mentioned is exhausting.”

Ainsley gave him a “are you really that old?” look.  “Seriously?  Please tell me you’re not doing this by hand.”

He leaned over and looked at the notepad next to Benson which was full of tally counts next to names.  Ainsley groaned softly and took over Benson’s mouse.

“Benson, the software can do this for you.  See this tab called data?  Click that and then click this button called ‘filters.’  Then uncheck everything and check the name you care about and…voila!  This dude is mentioned in twelve files.”

“Ohhhhhhh.”

“Benson, no.  I know you’re better with technology than that.”

Benson shrugged.  Ainsley sighed like a put upon grandchild explaining an iPad to his grandfather.  He pulled up another office chair and sat down next to Benson.

“Let me give you a crash course in Microsoft Excel.”

“Thank you, Mr. Zhou,” Benson intoned teasingly.

“Yeah, yeah.  I don’t know how they let you people carry guns.”

Benson smiled, and then focused as Ainsley began rapidly clicking buttons and tabs and formulas.  Thirty minutes later he was still clueless how to do anything but the filter function and was rescued by SAC Crenshaw himself.  Ainsley went still as a hunted mouse in tall grass.  The SAC’ss had the same kind of stature as a colonel in the Army, second only to the general.

“Good morning, Benson.”

“Aaron.  This is Ainsley Zhou; he’s an analyst embedded on CR-2.”

Aaron shook his hand and Ainsley still looked nervous as hell.

“Nice to meet you.  I hope you don’t mind if I interrupt you; I’d like to speak with you, Benson, in my office.”

“Um, sure.”

“Is now a good time?”

Benson knew that wasn’t really a question.  “Yes, of course.  I can come up now.”

“Great.  Can you grab your partner too?”

“Yes…” Now Benson was a little nervous.

Aaron smiled.  “Relax.  This isn’t about your current case.  We’ll let that one run its course for now.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Benson waited until Aaron was out of sight before he tossed the pen he’d been using to take notes onto the desk.  He rubbed his forehead with his hand and leaned heavily on the chair’s arm.

“Is…everything okay?” Ainsley asked tentatively.

“Yeah, it’s fine.  So, I’ve gotta go to this meeting.  Can you…”

“Let me see what I can glean from the spreadsheet.”

“Thanks.  You’re the best.  No requesting a transfer.  Ever.”

“At least not until you do.”

“Exactly.”

Ainsley grinned and shut down the spreadsheet on Benson’s computer so that he could open it on his own.  Benson locked his computer, stood up, and turned so that he could peer over Jordan's shoulder.  He was looking at articles on  _The Drudge Report_.

“Working hard?” Benson asked.

Jordan clicked over to a tab explaining stocks and commodities before turning around guiltily.  The guilt disappeared when he saw Benson.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“Don’t say it like that.  It’s not  _just_  me, it’s  _me_.”

“Unh-huh.”

“Anyway, I have to interrupt your dedicated undercover research.  Aaron wants to see us in his office.”

“Aaron?  Aaron, who?  Powers?”

“No, Crenshaw.”

Jordan’s eyes widened.  “The SAC?”

“Yep.  Don’t worry, I don’t think we’re in trouble or anything.  Of course, I don’t think we’re getting an award either.  There’s only one reason why he’d want to see us both.”

A muscle in Jordan’s jaw jumped as he pressed his teeth together.  “The Elton case.”

Benson nodded.  “The Elton case.”

The SAC’s office was smaller than one might expect, but it was bigger than anybody else’s in the building except the ADIC’s, and had a lot of windows.  Of course the view and the light were hindered by the fact that the blinds on the windows had to be set at a maximum forty-five degree angle at all times to block potentially prying eyes.  Aaron was at his desk and gestured for the two agents to take a seat in the chairs in front of his desk.  Jordan and Benson sat, waiting patiently for Aaron to finish an email.  When he finally turned to them, the smile he gave them was stiff and he wouldn’t even look at Benson.

“Thank you for coming.  I don’t want to want beat around the bush, so I’ll get right to the point.  As you know, the curriculum at Quantico includes case review during classroom sessions.  The instructors there have been anxious to include the Angel Slayer case since it involves a recently active serial killer as well as a cold case resolution.”

Benson shifted in his seat, but didn’t say anything.  Jordan glanced at Benson and then back at Aaron.

“That’s understandable," Jordan said since Benson was staying quiet.  "It was an important case and I think there’s a lot to be learned from it.”

Jordan looked to Benson again, like he was checking to make sure he hadn’t overstepped his bounds.  Benson gave him a curt nod.

“Exactly,” Aaron said, nodding.  “It’s a learning opportunity.  It will be addressed with utmost respect and with the goal of educating new agents that no case is typical.”

“The Angel Slayer case is like any other case worked in the Bureau,” Benson said.  “You don’t need my permission to use it as a case study.  So…why are we here?”

Aaron folded his hands, and then refolded them.  “The instructors like to use guest speakers when they can.  To have agents who worked the cases to present them and be available to answer questions.  They’ve requested the two of you present the Angel Slayer case.  They’ve arranged to have all the current classes combined into two sessions, so you would only have to commit to one morning or afternoon each, sometime before the first class graduates.”

Benson could already feel his head shaking.  He looked up and met Aaron’s eyes.  Then he dropped his eyes and shook his head again.

“Jordan?” Aaron asked.

“Um.  I…it’s still pretty fresh.”

“I think that’s the point,” Aaron said.  “I understand the case was personal for you as well, but I think you would be able to provide a very important perspective.”

Jordan nodded and looked to Benson.  He gave him a little shrug.  The case was going to be discussed regardless of who did it, so as long as Jordan thought he would be okay with it, then Benson thought he should do it.  Jordan kind of bobbed his head and then faced Aaron.

“Yes.  I think I could, uh, give a—um, do a case study for a class.”

“Excellent.  Glad to hear it.  So, I’ll send your contact information to—”

“You said the classes would be combined,” Benson interrupted.  “I assume class 14-6 will not be attending the lecture.”

Aaron looked a little confused.  “I think all of the classes have been slotted to attend one of the sessions.”

Benson felt his body begin to quiver with tension, like a tightly drawn bow string.  It was taking everything he had to keep himself in check.

“That’s Oska’s class.  You can’t possibly ask him to sit in and listen to it presented like some sort of clinical analysis.  You can’t turn him into some sort of freak show in front of his peers—the people he has to trust and work with until graduation.  You shouldn’t present the case at all while he’s still there.  He graduates the third week of August.  You can do the lectures starting in September.”

“Then four classes would miss the lecture.  On top of that, with the budget so up in the air right now, we don’t know when we’ll start having New Agent Class again after the fiscal year.”

“Even better.  The case isn’t a year old yet.  Little hasn’t even gone to trial.  You can put off presenting this case until 2015.”

“Perhaps, but there are dozens of students there now who can benefit from—”

“I don’t care about those people!” Benson shouted.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jordan sit up straight, ready to restrain him probably.  “I only care about one.  He didn’t just lose family; he was victimized by that psycho.  He lost almost everything he had and he doesn’t deserve to have it thrown in his face and put on public display to all of his classmates!”

“Benson,” Aaron said, his demeanor stern, but not angry.  “I do understand the personal nature of—”

“Do you?  You actually asked me to be one of the people to give the lecture!  Was I supposed to get up on that stage and clinically present facts of a case that nearly destroyed a man’s life?  A man who is like family to me now?  Who will be family when we get married?  Would you be okay giving a lecture on the man who tortured your wife, Aaron?”

Aaron was silent and Benson slumped back in his chair, still thrumming with anger but also feeling exhausted.  Jordan fidgeted beside him and then turned partially toward him.

“So, is that like a speculative thing or did you two make it official?”

Benson glanced at him.  He couldn’t tell if Jordan was trying to make things less awkward or if he couldn’t contain his curiosity.

“We got engaged this past weekend.”

“Really?  That’s awesome, man!”

Benson couldn’t help the small smile that tugged up the side of his mouth.  “Thanks.”

“Who asked who?”

“Well…that’s open for debate.”

“Benson,” Aaron cut in.  “I’ve accepted that you won’t teach the class, and that’s understandable.  But Jordan can and will.  Your—fiancé can be pulled out of the class for that lecture.”

“Oh come on, Aaron.  You can't single him out like that.  Don’t they have other cases they want to present?  Can’t they present one section with the Angel Slayer case and the other with a different case?  Then they can just rotate them out and Oska’s class will have graduated before it was their turn for the Angel Slayer case.”

Aaron considered the notion.  “I could suggest that idea to the instructors.  To be honest, the instructors may not even be aware of who Oska is and his connection to the case.  You’re right; I apologize for my callousness.  I’ll ensure that Oska isn’t singled out and that his class is not presented with the Angel Slayer case.  Jordan, I do need to ask that you be prepared to present the lecture tomorrow.”

“What?” Jordan asked, very alarmed and justifiably so.

“I think it would be best if you could get one in before you begin your undercover work.  We don’t know yet how long the operation may take.  The instructors have already prepared most of the slides and the important points they want to hit on.  You’ll be speaking from experience, so you won’t need to worry about having a lecture prepared or an outline.”

Jordan grumbled softly but didn’t protest.  Benson felt a headache coming on.  It wasn’t fair.  The weekend had gone so well and now Monday was here pissing in his cornflakes.

“Thank you for your time, gentlemen,” Aaron dismissed them gently.  “I’m sure I’ll be kept apprised of your progress in the securities fraud case.”

Benson got to his feet with a bare minimum of politeness and walked out of the office, Jordan trailing after him.  They were silent as they walked down to the hall to the stairs.  Once they were inside the concrete privacy of the stairwell, Jordan spoke.

“I don’t have to, you know.  If you don’t want me to, I’ll tell them no.”

Benson sighed audibly and turned the corner to head down one more flight of stairs.  “I don’t mind the case being taught.  And as long as you’re cool with it, I don’t mind you beefing up your promotion packet.  I’m really only concerned about Oska.”

Benson opened the door to their floor and Jordan followed him not back to their desks, but to a small conference room.  Jordan shut the door behind them and Benson flopped into one of the run down chairs crammed tightly around the spot stained table.  Jordan sat cattycorner to him at the head of the table.

“You think he can’t handle it?” Jordan asked softly.

Benson hesitated before answering, but he needed to talk to someone about it because Oska certainly wouldn’t.  Of course, it’s not like he’d tried very hard either.  He’d skirted around it once on Saturday, and then he’d let Oska deflect and distract him with kisses.  He hadn’t bothered to ask again.

“I think if he was dealing with what happened to him then knowing about the lecture wouldn’t be a big deal.  I still don’t think he should have to sit through it though.  It wasn’t just his family; Elton was small—he knew most of the victims personally.  He knew Russ personally.  I wouldn’t want to listen to some jackass talk about it like it was just any other case and listen to people ask stupid questions about it.”

Jordan smiled.  “Am I the jackass in that scenario?”

Benson laughed softly.  “I guess technically, yeah.”

“But the bigger issue here is that you don’t think Oska is dealing with what happened to him.  Is he repressing?  Or trying to pretend it never happened?”

“Worse.  I think he’s convinced himself that nothing  _did_  happen to him.  I mean, he acknowledges he was kidnapped by Russ, but he acts like the guy didn’t do anything to him.  He even said once that Russ never got the chance to lay a finger on him.  And I said, ‘What about your broken wrist?  What about the brand?’  And then he acted like those didn’t count for anything.  Not compared to what the others went through.  I can’t tell if those physical wounds are all that happened and he thinks it’s not even worth thinking of it as an assault because relatively speaking it wasn’t that bad, or if something worse happened to him that he doesn’t want to admit to so he brushes the other stuff off as not being a big deal to make the worse stuff also not be a big deal.”  Benson groaned and dry washed his face.  “Did that even make sense?”

“Yes,” Jordan said, and then leaned back in his chair.  “Has he spoken with a therapist?”

“He won’t go.”

“Have you asked him to go?”

“Yes.  But, I haven’t pestered him about it.  Maybe I should.”

“Maybe.  But you know, maybe he is okay.  Maybe nothing did happen.”

Benson chewed on his lower lip.  “Maybe.  I mean, he doesn’t exhibit any signs of trauma.  He doesn’t flinch away from,” Benson focused on the wall and not Jordan because friend or not this was awkward as fuck, “sexual contact, and he doesn’t have flashbacks when we do things that are…not strictly missionary.  He doesn’t talk about the case or Russ, except to tell me he doesn’t want me seeing Russ in prison.  It doesn’t seem like it consumes him or is eating at him.”

“But.”

“But what?”

“There must be a ‘but,’ Benson.  You’re saying he’s acting fine, but there’s a reason why you’re concerned.”

Benson flicked his thumbs with his index fingers.  “On a bullshit, gut instinct reason—I just feel like something is off with Oska.  To be fair, I never knew him when he was ‘normal Oska.’  I only met him after the tragedy happened, so who knows if this is just the way he is having recovered his former self?  But, I don’t think that’s true.

“And on a more concrete, have some kind of evidence reason—Russ once implied that he did something to him when he had him.  I decided to pretend that Oska and I parted ways after the case, so as far as Russ knows I haven’t even spoken to him in months.  But he said something last Friday and it upset me so much that I went off on him.  He might decide not to mention him again if he’s worried I’ll stop seeing him if he upsets me too much.”

Jordan twisted his hands and bit his lip.  “What did he say?”

Benson shook his head.  “Nothing definitive.  Nothing like, ‘I raped him,’ or something.  But.  He said that Oska wouldn’t want to be with me because he felt ‘unclean.’  Based on what Oska told me happened, I can’t imagine even with a victim’s mentality that he would interpret anything as making him ‘unclean.’  Which makes me think I don’t know everything that happened.”

“Maybe he did something while he was unconscious.  The doctors at the hospital told him what must have happened, but he has no memory of it, so he doesn’t think it’s a big deal, but the idea of it is gnawing at him.”

“Possibly.  But, he—”  Benson’s faced heated up as he thought about what he was about to share with Jordan.  “Um.  When we were in Elton, we didn’t really use protection, per se.”

“Meaning?” Jordan asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Meaning we didn’t use protection.  I’m allergic to latex, so we opted not to use the latex condoms he had on hand.  And after that, well it seemed pointless.”

“Benson Remick,” Jordan said with faux shock, “I never.”

“Shut up.  Anyway.  When he came here after the case, I pulled out some of the non-latex condoms I have and asked if we should use them.  He said he would never do anything to put me in danger, and that we didn’t need to use them.  I assume that means he wasn’t worried about STD’s so…”

“Benson, come on.  You said he didn’t come to you for three weeks.  That’s enough to time to get tested for everything.  Also, Russ used dildos, not his own body.  Plus, oral sex doesn’t—”

“I get it!  Stop.”

“Sorry.  Have you ever…asked him outright what happened?”

“Not really, no.  I just keep telling him that if he needs to talk, I’m here.  And I would understand and I wouldn’t judge and blah blah.”

Benson dropped his head down onto the table.

“Maybe you need to sit down and say, ‘Oska, tell me everything Russ did to you while you were his captive.’”

Benson raised his head.  “Do I have that right?  Does anybody?”

“The right to ask?  Sure.  To demand he answer?  No.  You can ask him to be totally honest with you and he can choose to tell you the truth, lie, or tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it.  There’s nothing you can do about his reply, but I think you need to ask.”

Benson considered Jordan’s words.  It was true; he had never explicitly asked Oska to tell him what had happened.  The worst that could happen was that Oska would say no.  Well, no, the worst case scenario was Oska lying about it and then thinking he needed to try to hide his problems better and withdrawing from him.  That thought scared him more than anything, but was he willing to sacrifice Oska’s wellbeing to stave off his own insecurities?

“Fuck me,” Benson mumbled and rubbed his eyes.

“How about I check on him?” Jordan asked.

“What?”

“When I go to Quantico for the lecture, I’ll arrange to meet him for lunch.  I’ll explain why I’m there and ask if it bothers him.  I probably won’t be able to ask him anything outright, but at least I’ll get to spend some time with him and get my impression of how he’s doing.  It might help to have an outsider’s perspective.”

Benson nodded.  “Maybe.  But you can’t let him know we talked about him.”

Jordan moved his head, but it wasn’t exactly a nod.  “I won’t lie to him, but perhaps I won’t start with, ‘Hey, Oska, how’s class?  Good Salisbury steak, huh?  So, did Russ ever sexually assault you?’”

Benson grimaced.  He knew Jordan was aiming for humor, but the thought that it could be a reality left him cold and unsteady.  Jordan cleared his throat.

“So, yeah, none of that.  But…”

“Yes, thank you,” Benson said.  “I think it would be good for him to realize he has friends other than me.  I talked to Gus Lanoue last Friday—oh, apparently Hannigan killed the Squirrel Licker’s girlfriend—and he said that no one in Elton knew where he was.  That he just up and left.  I’m literally the only person he knows here and talks to.  Maybe the academy is helping.  I think he’s made friends with his roommate.  His young and attractive roommate.  He didn’t mention that part.”

Jordan just laughed at Benson.  Benson would have been offended by his friend’s lack of concern, but in all honesty, infidelity wasn’t something that worried him when it came to his relationship with Oska.  He stood up from the table and kicked Jordan’s foot as he walked by.

“That’s enough entertainment for you for one day.  Let’s go see if you can pass for a Wall Street wannabe yet.”

Jordan moaned and reluctantly joined him in his trek back to their desks.  Benson picked up the notebook of quick facts a financial analyst had prepared for Jordan to study from.  He held it out to his pouting partner.

“Isn’t there another way we can do this?” Jordan bemoaned.

Benson smirked.  “You could seduce Carpinelli.”

Jordan snatched the notebook out of his hand.  “I don’t like you today.”

Benson patted his shoulder and returned to his own desk.

 

_Wipeout_  was on TV, so Benson was parked on the couch with Charlie on the cushion next to him, snoring lightly with her head on his thigh.  Oska had a strict no dogs on the furniture rule, which Benson mostly obeyed, but tonight he broke the rule because she had been regressing so much.  When he had patted the cushion next to him and called her name, Charlie had perked up and trotted over.  Even crippling fear couldn’t overcome the joy of doing something forbidden and getting away with it.

His personal cell phone rang and Benson had to stretch his upper body to extremes so as not to disturb the dog as he reached for it on the end table.  He just managed to get his fingertips on the device and scooted it close enough to pick up.

“Hello?” he answered quickly, not checking the caller ID because he thought he would miss the call.

“Happy Bastille Day!”

Benson frowned.  He pulled the phone back to check the screen.  “Hey, babe.  Is that…a holiday that I should have bought a gift for?”

Oska chuckled in his ear and Benson slipped down into the embrace of the couch, imagining the man was there with him.

“Nope.  It’s a French thing.”

“You’re a Federal Agent now, Oska.  You can only concern yourself about Murican Things.”

“Technically not an agent yet.  And we here at the FBI are dedicated to diversity amongst our employees.”

“Not white Frenchies.”

“Not all Frenchies are white.”

“Babe.  Can we talk about something else?”

“Yes.  I appreciate you’ve ditched darling, but babe is mine.  Find something else.”

Benson rolled his eyes.  “How you doing?”

“Fine.”

“So, you just called to hear my voice?” he asked with a teasing tone.

“No, I called to tell you that we had to run six miles today and do an obstacle course and my body was so sore it was torture.”

Benson grinned.  “Are you saying that’s my fault?”

“You know it is.”

“As I recall you were just as enthusiastic as I was.”

“Mmm.  Recollections of sexual escapades.  Never gets ol—oh, sorry, Del,” Oska’s voice faded at the end.  Then it returned louder.  “I promised him I wasn’t calling you for anything naughty.”

“So, again, why are you calling?  Anything in particular or a just because?”

“Just because.  Or maybe I’m looking for a little sympathy and over the phone coddling.”

Benson’s hand stilled where it was petting the top of Charlie’s head.  “Why?  Is—Did—Why?”

“Today was mace day.”

Benson relaxed even though he groaned with empathy.  “I’m so sorry.  That sucks.  Seriously they did it on a Monday?”

“Yep.”

“Anyone throw up?”

“One guy.  And a woman almost broke down.  She didn’t make it to the three minutes before we could flush our eyes.”

“Did you get some milk at dinner?”

“Yeah.  This is the second time I’ve had to do it.  Had to do it for police training too.  No one gets a pass.”

Benson winced.  “Sorry, Oz.  Can I do anything for you?”

“You know what I’d really like you to do?” Oska’s voice grew sultry and Benson licked his lips in anticipation.

“What’s that, baby?” he asked softly.

“I’m on my bed, curled around my pillow—and I want to pretend like you’re here to let me fall asleep on you.”

Benson laughed.  “Yeah?  You under the covers, all tucked in?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“One arm behind my neck, the other on my chest?”

“Yep.  Phone balanced on my ear.”

Benson smiled.  “Don’t need a phone.  I’m there.  I’m with you.”

He heard snuffling over the line.

“You did good today, sweetheart.  You deserve to relax and get a good sleep.”

He heard some sleepy humming.

“Are the lights out?”

“Nn.”

“Alarm set?”

“Nn.”

“Good.  Then it’s just you and me and that beautiful bed you built.  Didn’t know it was for us at the time, did you?  But it is.  It’s our bed that we share now, and will share as husbands.”

Oska sighed softly.

“You asleep, Oz?”

“Mm.”

“I love you.  Goodnight.”

“Love you too.  Night.  And Benson?”

“Yes?”

“Tell Charlie to get off the couch.”

He glanced down at the dog, her brow raised and eyes shifted toward him as she must have heard her name over the phone.

“Okay, I’ll tell her.”  Benson shook his head at the dog and mouthed, “You can stay.”

“G’night, babe.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Benson waited until Oska disconnected from his end, and then he turned off the phone.  Charlie raised her head and gave a small thump of her tail.

“Yes, that was Oska.”  Her ears perked up.  “But he’s not here.  He’ll be home soon though.”  He scratched the top of her head and she settled back down against his leg.

Benson checked the time; it was barely past nine o’clock.  He chuckled as he remembered his academy days.  He’d reached a point where he went to bed at five o’clock if there wasn’t something on the schedule forcing him to be awake and active.  Never let it be said that training to be a special agent was all fun and 80’s music montages.

 

**Tuesday, July 15, 2014**

 

Jordan walked around the familiar Quantico campus.  It had only been three years since he’d been there earning his stripes.  It felt longer.  He felt older.  He wasn’t sure if he felt any wiser.  He tried to imagine Ann walking around in her assigned khaki cargo pants and navy blue polo shirt.  Then he frowned for thinking about Ann at all.  If she didn’t want him, then he was going to have to learn not to want her.  Benson was right, he needed a distraction.  A human distraction.  Lately all he did was go to work and the gym and then back home.  Where was he supposed to meet… _people_?

His dilemma had to be put on hold as he entered the lecture hall and was greeted by the two instructors who ran the criminal profiling and behavioral analysis classes.  They had agreed to meet an hour before the class so that Jordan could review the slides and add anything if he thought it was important.  As he perused the slides, he was fairly certain that he could handle the presentation with minimal issues.  He found that he wasn’t so much upset and disturbed by all the reminders as he was just furious with Russ.  He suggested that he cede the discussion of Russ’ profile to the instructors because he didn’t think he could handle talking about him without adding his own color commentary.

“One other thing,” Jordan said, “you need to go into these slides and change the names of the victims to pseudonyms.”

“Why?” Barry, the behavioral analyst, asked.  “All the families have been notified.  This is pretty much public knowledge now.”

“Well for one thing, the last victim is still alive.  You shouldn’t be using his name without his permission, which I know you don’t have.  Secondly, that man is currently attending New Agent Class here.”

“What?!”

“The fuck?!”

The two men responded with the appropriate amount shock, but Jordan felt someone should have told them before now.

“Why the hell are we presenting this case at all if he’s here?” John, the criminal profiler, said, looking aghast.

“Believe me that was brought up and discussed.  Management felt the case was too important to ignore.”

“Not as long as he’s here.  We can teach it after he graduates.  Damn.”

“They’ve told us that they’ve arranged it so that his class won’t rotate into this lecture before he graduates, but obviously people are going to discuss it outside the lecture.  That’s why you should use pseudonyms, especially for him.”

“Of course,” Barry replied.  “We’ve got plenty of time to change the names on the slides.  It will just be a matter of us not slipping up or confusing the names.”

“Then just change it to victim one, two, et cetera.  There’s no need for names at all.”

“Well,” John said, “we actually like to use names.  It makes them seem more real, and not just a body or a statistic.  It’s important to remind the agents that everything we do is about saving real, living people.  And that we should never reduce them to objects.”

Jordan conceded the point and together they invented false names for the victims and inserted them into the PowerPoint slides.  Not long after that, three classes of twenty-five students each began to file into the auditorium.  Jordan had never been particularly nervous when doing public speaking, but he’d never been in a position where he was addressing a group as an authority on something.  It was a little daunting.

Once everyone was seated the lights went out and they started right on time.  Jordan clicked through the slides, never looking at the crime scene photos or autopsy pictures any longer than necessary to know what he needed to talk about.  It was pretty easy to talk since he wasn’t trying to remember notes or facts; he was just speaking from memory and using the slides to remind him of little things, like the fact that the number of pieces Mary Ann Willis aka Sarah Vanderpool had been chopped into was twenty-eight.  He found himself glossing over and rushing through how they finally solved the case—the important part he supposed—because in reality they had just gotten lucky that Benson had been suspended and sent back to his motel room.

He ended the presentation with a quick summary of Russ’ extradition and his impending trial date.  Then the other two instructors came on and asked if there were any questions.  Dozens of hands shot up.  Jordan was told they would only have about five or ten minutes for questions at the end, but since he had rushed through it he now had over fifteen minutes to kill.  He looked out into the audience and couldn’t see anything since the house lights were down and there were spotlights shining onto the stage.  He put a hand up to shield his eyes and pointed to the first hand he saw.

“Yes, you.”

“I had heard on the news that the Angel Slayer has potentially been active for almost two decades.  Is that true?”

“It’s a possibility.  We do know that he committed the murders in DC in the spring of 2008.  He cooperated with authorities and we were able to arrest his three so-called disciples.  Two of them confessed, but the third is denying it.  With only Little’s word to go by, the Arlington police have been contacted to go back over the evidence they have in custody to see if they can find a link.  Um, you?”

“Did you really not know that the guy working with you the whole time was the killer?”

“No,” Jordan snapped, “we just decided that if we let him kill seven people catching him would be more prestigious.”

“No, sorry, I meant—were there any clues that looking back on it may have clued you in sooner?”

“Hindsight is twenty-twenty.  If I examined everything he said and did with the knowledge of who he is, then I’m sure I could point to it and go, ‘Oh, of course, he was self-referencing or trying to cover up evidence.’  But at the time, nothing set off warning bells.  He’d been doing this for a long time and he knew enough about police work to know what not to do.  You?  Can we do something about these lights?”

“Going back, you said we know he did the Elton murders and the DC murders, but you also said he claimed to have done more all over the country.  And that he had trophies in the cellar for more victims than there were in Elton and DC combined.  Have you identified any of those…pieces, people?”

“Not yet.  The samples were degraded by the preservation fluid so we can’t do DNA typing.  Analysis does seem to indicate that some are quite old and would not be additional pieces from the Elton victims.  We’ve put out a nationwide notice to police department cold case squads, asking them to see if there are mentions of a brand on the tongue of any unsolved serial murder victims.  So far we haven’t received any hits.”

“Have you asked the Angel Slayer himself?” someone called out.

“We’re currently working on negotiating the information from him, but we have nothing to negotiate with.  He gave up the DC disciples for taking the death penalty off the table.”

The audience grumbled a little, and Jordan wiped the sweat from his forehead.  They needed to turn the lights on the stage down.

“Unfortunately that’s all we have to offer him.  He’ll never be eligible for parole and he’ll never be housed in anything but a maximum security prison.  He won’t give up the information unless he gets something that he wants.”

“What does he want?” another voice asked.

Jordan turned his head, searching for the asker.

“Please, raise your hand,” Barry said taking a step forward.

“I don’t know,” Jordan replied honestly and faced Barry.  “Can we pull the house lights up?  I can’t see anyone.”

“Okay, I’ll ask.”

Jordan saw another hand.  “You.”

“Why did the killer choose a location he knew he would get caught for his last victim?  You said no one knew it was him yet.  That he wouldn’t have been spooked from you finding the picture on the corkboard.  Why risk it?  Especially if he could put the blame on the last victim by making him disappear and seem guilty?”

“Little was much too arrogant and too much of a narcissist for that.  He would never let someone take credit for his work.  He didn’t want to get caught, but he also couldn’t let his promise of a kill—by delivering an angel card—go unfulfilled.”

“So why not do it at the victim’s home like the others?  Or an empty motel room?”

Jordan swallowed and took a moment to collect his thoughts.  “The last one was meant to be personal.  Little had developed an obsession with one of the agents on the case.  He claimed he was going to leave the last victim as a present for him.”

There were disgruntled murmurs through the room.

“Did something happen that made Little decide it was time to send him a message?  Or did that victim hold any personal significance?”

“Hands, please,” Barry reminded them again.

“Well, the last victim was another police officer.  So, we both knew him.  So, it would be personal.  I think the victim could have been anyone.  By that point Little’s obsession with B—the agent had reached a breaking point.”

“What about the agents?” the voice who had asked what Russ wanted in exchange for information spoke again.

Jordan shielded his eyes and squinted.  “What about the agents?  What do you mean?”

“I mean, how are the agents who worked the case coping with the aftermath?”

The houselights finally turned on.  Jordan found himself looking at Oska.  His palms turned clammy and his stomach started slingshotting itself around his torso.  Benson was going to kill him.  Or kill somebody.  Jordan realized he was staring, and had been for some time.  He cleared his throat.

“Um, you asked about the agent?  What?”

“How are you and the other agents dealing with the aftermath?  In other words, do cases like these have lasting effects?  What should we expect if we work something similar?”

That last part was bullshit.  Oska was just asking the first part, and he probably only cared how Benson was doing.  But if Oska wanted to know that he could very damn well ask his boyfriend—no, his  _fiancé_ —himself.

“It stays with you,” Jordan replied, thinking that the last question was legitimate and the students could benefit from the answer.  He did feel a little like an imposter offering up the advice though; he knew there were people in the audience older than him who already had years of law enforcement work under their belt.  “I don’t think it’s something that will ever let go of me completely.  But you have to learn to accept the things you can’t change.  You can't let yourself drown in what ifs and if only’s.  As long as you did everything you could, even if you couldn’t save everyone, it was enough.  You should never take on the guilt of the monsters responsible for the crime.  The killer is the responsible party and no matter how they imply that you were complicit, it’s not true.”

“Did Little imply you were responsible for any of the victims?” someone asked, but Jordan ignored her.

“The agents are doing okay,” Jordan said to Oska via the class.  “We’ve talked about it and we’ve even spoken with a psychologist.  We take care of ourselves  _and_  each other.  You know who I’m concerned about?  The last victim.”

Jordan moved his eyes so it wouldn’t seem like he was focusing on Oska.

“Apparently the victim that survived packed up his belongings and blew out of Elton without telling anyone he knew where he was going.  He cut all ties and didn’t even drop them a note to let them know that he was okay.  He brushes off the attack like it was nothing and refuses to talk about it even with his loved ones.  My concern is for him, and I would hope that he knows no one would blame him for anything that happened to him.”

Jordan glanced back at Oska.  His face was completely, eerily blank.  But then, that was often his default expression.  He liked to tease him for his “pensive” resting look, but now he wished he had a little more to go on.

“Well, that’s all the time we have for the lecture today,” John said, stepping to the front of the stage.  “If you have more questions, you can ask us during our next class together.  Thank you to Agent Szustakowski for coming down here to give us an insider perspective on a truly compelling case.”

The audience clapped for him politely, and then a buzzing broke out as everyone began to chat on their way out of the auditorium.  No one seemed to be in much of a hurry since they had a break in the schedule for lunch.  Jordan picked up his notes from the podium and put them into a briefcase he had borrowed from a squad mate so he would look professional.  When he turned around he saw that Oska was still in his seat.  Jordan walked down the stairs at the front of the stage and stood in front of Oska, seven rows away.

“You still want to get lunch?”

“Will you take me off campus?”

“Of course.  How long you got?”

“Only an hour.”

“Well, then we’ll have to stay on base.  There’s fast food up by the commissary.”

“That’ll do.”

Oska stood up and walked out of the row.  He smiled when Jordan reached him on the way up the ramp to the exit.

“It’s good to see you,” Oska said.  “It’s been a while.”

“It has.  And I’m glad you’re still happy to see me and not angry with me.”

“Why would I be angry?  Because you called me out for being a dick?”  Oska shrugged.  “You can get mad at the truth, but it doesn’t help.”

They made small talk as they made their way to Jordan’s car and drove out of the FBI academy and onto the circular road that enclosed the Marine base.  It wasn’t until they each had a foot long Subway sandwich and were seated in an empty corner that Jordan felt comfortable broaching the subject again—now that they had food to focus on and could use it to distract themselves if need be.

“I’m sorry you had to sit through that,” Jordan started.  “You weren’t supposed to.  You were supposed to cycle through a different case presentation but graduate before it was your class’ turn for the Angel Slayer case.”

Oska shrugged and picked up a stray pickle that had fallen from his sandwich and popped it into his mouth.

“That’s government efficiency for you, I guess.”

“Are you okay?”

Oska nodded.  “I’ll admit at first I kind of felt a panic attack coming on.  I was so certain that everyone knew who I was and everything that had happened.  But as you went through it, it was actually kind of cathartic to see it presented as a case study.  Because the reason we can is that we got him.  He’s captured and in prison where he can’t hurt anyone and we can learn from him to improve ourselves and be better investigators.

“I guess I also compartmentalized a bit.  I didn’t think about the emotion the case stirred up, but I focused on each new scene and victim and the evidence and the circumstances and I tried to determine if we, the Elton PD, should have known.  I know you kind of answered that question, that when looking back it’s easy to find your mistakes, but we knew him better.”

“Did you see anything?  You weren’t privy to all the evidence before.”

“True.  Some of it was new to me.  I didn’t see anything that would have led me specifically to Russ except…”

Jordan waited, and then prompted him.  “Except?”

“After we knew that it had to be a police officer and that, frankly, it had to be someone from Elton—I think a part of me did suspect him.  But the reason why was nothing I could go to anyone about or could be used as evidence to start investigating someone.”  Oska let out soft, bitter laugh.  “You know, I actually went home with him from the hospital that night because I thought I would be clever and ask him some questions to see if I was right.”

“Why did you suspect him?”

Oska smiled wryly.  “I could tell that he had a thing for Benson.”  Oska looked up and his smile widened as he looked at Jordan.

Jordan smile too.  “Jealous boyfriend vibes?”

“Pretty much.  Russ and I were never what you would call friends, but we got along fine.  Until Benson came along.  And then all of a sudden we were posturing and glaring at each other.”

Jordan laughed.  “Are you sure you didn’t just  _want_  him to be the killer at that point?”

“It was probably some of that.  But like I said, when we knew it had to be someone with the Elton police, Russ jumped to the front of my mind because he was the only one who had this intense interest and focus on Benson, like he had known him from before.”

Jordan grinned and took a large bite of his sandwich.  “Rusth whas da on-‘ee on obsessed wi’t Benhen?”

Oska threw a chip at him.  “I wasn’t obsessed.”

Jordan swallowed and took a sip of his soda.  “No, you were just in love.”

Oska looked down and blushed.  Jordan didn’t even feel sorry for teasing him.

“Whatever,” Oska grumbled.  “Speaking of being in love, what about you and A—”

“Unh-uh.  Don’t deflect.  We’re still talking about you.”

“What is there to talk about?”

“How you’re doing.  How you’re coping.  How you’re not coping.”

Oska set his sandwich down and brushed his hands together.  Then he settled his arms on the table and met Jordan’s eyes.

“What makes you think I’m not coping?  Do you and Benson talk about me?”

“No.  Not in the way you’re implying.  We’re not two friends discussing a third behind his back.  My best friend is talking to me about how he’s losing his mind with worry over the most important person in his life.”

Oska’s confrontational demeanor abated.  His eyes softened into worry.  “What do you mean ‘losing his mind?’”

Jordan realized he may be overstepping his bounds.  Probably was betraying part of Benson’s confidence.  But he couldn’t let these two continue like this.

“I think he’s worried that he’ll lose you.”

“Lose me?” Oska asked incredulously.  “Where would I go?  He’s all I have.  All I want.  I’m worried that he’ll leave me when—”

Oska cut off abruptly and played with an empty straw wrapper.

“When what?  What happened, Oska?  Russ obviously did something to you, and you’re not dealing with it.”

“And how should I deal with it?” Oska snapped.  “Should I tell everyone so that people can give me a pass because they know how awful I am?  Should I go on Dateline and divulge the intimate details of my life to the world so that I can ‘confront it and heal?’”

“At the very least you should admit that something happened to you.  That you’re not okay.  That you need help and that you need Benson.”

“I do need Benson.  And he knows that!”

“Maybe.  But—”

“He doesn’t need to know why.  And there is no why.  Nothing happened.  Why does everyone think that he did something horrible to me that I’m hiding?  Was being drugged, stripped, tied up, humiliated, branded, and beaten with a sledge hammer not good enough for you people?  Was that not enough of a harrowing ordeal?  Do you all think that something worse must have happened to me because otherwise I’m being some kind of pathetic baby for being upset about what  _did_  happen to me?”

Jordan sat back in his seat, appetite gone from the bitter taste in his mouth.  Oska was flushed and tears hovered in the corners of his eyes.  Oska buried his face in his hands and groaned softly.  Jordan wanted to reach out to him, but he didn’t know if his touch would be welcome.

“I’m sorry, Oska.  You’re right.  I’m being an asshole.  But, please know it comes from a place of love and concern.”

Oska made some sort of scoffing sound.  Then he sat up and wiped his eyes.  He balled up the rest of his sandwich in the wrapper and shoved it into his half-eaten bag of chips.

“You better take me back.  I have to be in class on time.”

Jordan nodded.  “Okay.”

The drive back to the Academy was tense.  Jordan knew he was going to get reamed out by Benson when he heard about this.  A bad part of him wished that Oska was so intent on hiding his pain from Benson that he wouldn’t tell him about their lunch.

Jordan dropped Oska off close to the building he had his next class in.  Before opening the door, Oska turned to Jordan.

“Jordan, I do appreciate your concern.  Both yours and Benson’s.  And this has made me understand that my behavior has indicated that I’m not okay.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to start hiding it better,” Jordan said.

“No, I know.  I think it made me realize that maybe I’m not as okay as I wish I was.  Maybe I can look into seeing one of the counselors here.”

Jordan hummed softly.  “And will you actually do that?”

Oska gave him a wry smile and a small shrug.  “Thanks for lunch, Jordan.  It was good to see you.  If you have to come back down for another lecture, we should do it again.”

“Okay.”

Jordan blew air out through his mouth as he watched Oska walk away.  Halfway to the door he was greeted by one of his classmates and smiled at him as they went in together.  At least Oska appeared to have friends at the academy.  Eighteen weeks was a long time to feel utterly isolated.  Jordan strummed his fingers on the wheel.  Maybe Oska was right.  Certainly what they knew had happened to him was more than enough to make someone become withdrawn and cautious.

The hour long drive back to the field office gave Jordan nothing but time to debate whether or not he should tell Benson about his talk with Oska.  At the very least he knew he had to tell Benson that someone had royally screwed up and had Oska’s class attend his lecture.  He understood the man would be justifiably upset, but he hoped he didn’t do anything that would result in disciplinary measures.  Benson didn’t have the best temper to begin with, and it was only exacerbated when a situation triggered his protective instincts.

Jordan waited until it was almost time for them to leave the office before he worked up the nerve to tell Benson his news.  Then he pushed his chair slightly back from Benson’s as he waited for the man’s reaction.  Benson kept his attention focused on his computer, but Jordan could tell by the jumping muscles in his jaw that he had heard him.  He tried to wait him out for a response, but Jordan knew he would lose if he ever played a game of chicken because he caved almost right away.

“Benson, are you okay?”

“Is Oska okay?”

“What?”

Benson finally looked at him.  “You said you spoke with Oska afterwards and that he handled it okay, right?”

“Y-yes.  As far as I could tell.”

“Well.  Then what can I do?  Either it was an accident and complaining about it just gets people in trouble who made an honest mistake.  Or it was done on purpose and anything I complain about they won’t care about because they already decided they don’t care.  As long as Oska wasn’t hurt by it, then what can I do?”

“I—”

“Anyway, you’re going under tomorrow, right?  Are you ready for it?”

Jordan didn’t appreciate the topic being brushed aside, but he did know that it was technically none of his business and if Benson didn’t want to talk about it he couldn’t make him.

“As ready I can be,” Jordan replied.  “Honestly, I’m just going to pull the ‘I’m brand new to all this and don’t know what I’m doing' thing.  That’s really my only strategy.  Do you have any idea of who I should focus on when I get inside?”

“Other than Carpinelli?”

“Yes.  Why not Klein?”

“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to do some research on him as well, but I just don’t get a feeling of corporate crime mastermind from him.  I’m not sure he’s much more than a pretty face.”

“Maybe he uses that as a disguise.  Plays the guileless, innocent president who’s being hosed by his CEO.  Or they could be in on it together.”

“I just can’t buy that,” Benson said.  “If they were in on it together, they never would have contacted the FBI with information that they had noticed a trend in their clients’ portfolios crashing.”

“But we would have found them eventually, right?  Because of the known commodities frauds.  We would have followed the trail and come across Klein & Klein along the way.”

“True.”

“So, perhaps that was a way of casting suspicion off themselves.  So like during the meeting when we told them there were known fraudulent commodities used by their company they could be all like, ‘Whaaaat?’”

Benson finally cracked a smile.  “I feel like we’re dissecting the latest gossips written on the boys’ bathroom walls than a federal case.”

Jordan shrugged.  “Human nature doesn’t change much with age, just the environment and the consequences.”

“Wow.  That’s deep.”

“Fuck off.  Okay, so let’s assume Carpinelli and Klein are innocent for the moment.  Where should we focus our efforts?”

“Well, the last couple of days I’ve been sorting through all the information in the files they gave us.”

“ _You’ve_  been sorting…”

“Yes, fine, the information Ainsley digitized for us and helped me figure out how to use in Excel.  You little shit.  Anyway, I found something interesting.  One is a broker named Harris Teigan.  He only has a couple of clients who were defrauded, less than most of the other brokers, but he is listed as having been consulted on at least a third of them.  As far as I can tell being consulted is something that the brokers are required to do, so that there’s a second opinion, of sorts.  However, most of the cases don’t list who was the consultant even though there is a note indicating that a consult was completed.”

“So for all we know,” Jordan said, “this Teigan consulted on everything and pushed the bad commodities.”

“Possibly.  Secondly I would also look at Flora Vasquez.  She flies under the radar because she doesn’t directly involve herself in the advising or trading or anything like that.”

“So what’s her role?”

“She’s the IT specialist.  She has administrative access to everyone’s accounts.  Including the accounts the brokers use to access the markets and make trades.”

“Hm, but if she was changing what they were investing in, wouldn’t they have recognized that the commodity names didn’t match with what they had entered?”

Benson shrugged.  “Maybe.  But I never trust anyone who knows how to use a computer really well.”

“I heard that,” Ainsley called out dryly from the other side of the divider.

 

**Wednesday, July 16, 2014**

 

Benson scowled at the taillights blocking his path.  Every damn morning.  He ought to move to the Helena Resident Agency where the only thing that might impede his morning commute was a stray buffalo.  Benson took another sip of coffee from his travel mug.  He must be pretty pissy if he was considering moving to Montana.  And he knew why he was.  He’d missed his morning phone call from Oska because he’d been in the shower.  By the time he’d seen the missed call on his phone, Oska had already sent a text saying he’d had to leave early to work on a project before class and wouldn’t be able to talk until later.  Later.  Later, later, later.  He was ready for their life together to start  _now_.

The radio cut out as the Bluetooth on his phone connected a call to the car’s speakers.  He saw that it was Gus Lanoue from Elton calling.  He answered, somewhat concerned that something had gone wrong with the Squirrel Licker case.

“Hey, Gus.”

“Mornin’, Benson.  How are things down south?”

“Slow and boring; I’m sitting in traffic.”

“Well, then I assume I have your rapt attention.”

“What’s up?”

“We’ve reopened the case on Leanne Woliczak.  Based on Little’s evidence and Chad’s story, there’s enough doubt in the case to overturn the verdict.”

“He was already convicted?  You guys moved fast in New Hampshire.”

“Small town,” Gus countered.  “Anyway, we won’t be able to completely vacate the conviction until Little testifies, so we’ve had to subpoena him.”

“Will he be able to do it from Virginia?”

“We’re looking into it.  The last thing we want is for him to come back here.  He might not make it back out alive.”

“So, what’s your argument for not sending him up there?”

Gus chuckled.  “Good point, and good riddance I guess.”

“Would his testimony in Elton conflict with his trial dates in October?  I wonder if we’d have to delay the proceedings.  Again.”

“Shit,” Gus muttered.  “That’s probably why he confessed to Leanne’s murder in the first place.  So that he could fuck with his own proceedings.”

“Yeah,” Benson sighed, “that thought had crossed my mind.  But, freeing an innocent man is more important than not delaying his conviction.  It’s a sure thing, no matter what bullshit his lawyer is feeding him, and in the meantime he has to stay in jail.  So, it’s not like he’s running loose somewhere.”

“God forbid,” Gus murmured.  “Anyway, I just wanted to update you on the situation.”

“Thanks, Gus.  I appreciate it.  Keep me updated on anything else that comes up.”

“Will do.”

The call ended and Benson checked his surroundings.  He made a face.  He’d barely moved two blocks.  Seriously, fuck DC traffic.

At the office, their squad was in a tizzy as everyone tried to put themselves in a place of importance as one of the trained undercover agents gave Jordan some last minute tips.  Today was going to be his first day at Klein & Klein as Jordan Bell.  He wasn’t going to be wearing a wire or a camera.  Not yet anyway.  They needed to identify a suspect before they could justify using surveillance techniques on the people in the office.  Carpinelli had told them he didn’t mind them conducting surveillance on his employees, but a private citizen had less restrictions on what he could do than the FBI.

When at last the UC agent declared that Jordan’s preparation was “Fine, I guess,” Benson managed to herd everyone out of the small conference room and shut the door.  The quiet was welcome to his ears and he suspected Jordan appreciated it even more.  He was wearing a suit and tie, and had already grumbled about the fact that he had to wear the same clothes as his regular job at an undercover gig.  He fidgeted with his tie and then looked at Benson, holding out his arms as if asking for his approval.

“Jordan, I know you’re freaking out, but there’s really no reason to be.”

“You think?” Jordan mumbled.

“Well, not to be dismissive, but this isn’t exactly the mafia you’re trying to infiltrate.  If you get discovered, you just leave the operation.  You won’t be outfitted with a brand new pair of concrete shoes.”

Jordan exhaled slowly.  “True.”

“Also, the case isn’t riding on this.  You being on the inside will definitely help and perhaps make it easier to identify any leads or suspects, but the case won’t be ruined if you’re discovered.  Some of those securities have already been flagged as fraudulent, so anyone running the scam has already been alerted to the possibility of an investigation.”

“So, you’re saying this is pointless?”

“No, of course not.  I’m just saying there’s really no reason to be nervous.  Just be yourself.  An adorable puppy that people trust blindly because you’re so cute and lovable.”

Jordan tsked at him.  “Like you’re one to talk.  You blue steel your way through interviews.”

Benson grinned and shrugged.  “We all have our assets; we should use them to our benefit.”

Jordan’s shoulders relaxed the slightest bit.  “Yeah, I guess I don’t really need to be super spy on this thing.  Just enough to appease the higher ups.”

“You could also use the experience to your advantage.  Learn some of the secrets and tips about trading.  Maybe you can figure out how to make us a fortune and we can retire early.”

“Like I’m sharing my trading money with you.  You’ll be rich from the book.”

“What book?”

“Oska didn’t tell you?”

Benson’s chest tightened.  It seemed like every day he learned that Oska was keeping something from him.

“We were joking around one evening before he left for NAC.  I think you were out on a beer run or something, and he brought up how he could make a fortune by writing a book about the Angel Slayer.  Insider perspective, the morbid fascination humans have with people being victimized.  We were pretty sloshed when we talked about it, but I think there was a chapter entitled ‘He was overcompensating for more than just his last name being Little.’”  Jordan laughed.  “There were a lot of tiny dick jokes.”

Benson relaxed minutely.  “It was a joke?”

“Yeah, it was a joke.  Although, writing a book probably wouldn’t be a bad retirement plan.  We’d have to wait until he’s convicted, but after that…”

“Do you think he should see a therapist?”

Jordan stuck his hands in his pocket and didn’t seem surprised by the abrupt change in topic.  “Yeah, I do.  But not until he admits he needs to.  Otherwise it won’t do him any good.”

“Do you think he’s…do you think he’s not okay?  I mean, is he…not…”

“I get what you mean.  And I do think he’s okay.  He’s not going to go off the deep end.  He’s not going to hurt himself or anyone else.  Not right now.  But if he lets it fester…you know, to be honest…it seems like he’s not stressing about what Russ did to him.  I kind of get the vibe that he…feels guilty about something.”

“Guilty?”  Benson sighed.  “In Elton he did mention that he felt responsible for his sister coming back—and that's why she was available for Russ to target.”

“Yeah, I think he feels guilty about something involving you.”

Benson’s brow creased in confusion.  “For what?  He was a little harsh with me in the hospital after everything went down, but under the circumstances, there was nothing to even forgive.  We’ve moved past that.”

Jordan shrugged.  “I don’t know, man.  He’s just really paranoid that you’re going to leave him.”

“I would never…I can’t…”

Benson stood up straight.  Why on earth were they having this conversation?

“Anyway, if you fuck this up, the investigation will be fine.  But, try not to fuck it up.”

“Thank you for the speech, sir.  I am adequately inspired.”

Benson shook his head, smiling.  “Come on, your ride is waiting downstairs.”

Jordan shook out his limbs one last time.  “I wish you were coming with me.”

“Hey,” Benson turned and met his eyes.  “I’m here.  I got your back.”

Jordan nodded, a small smile curving his lips.  “Thanks, man.  I know.”

With one last pat on the back, Benson sent Jordan off to begin his first day as an undercover agent.  He wondered if it would be his last.  Then he told himself to have a little faith.  Jordan was a good agent and he was great with people.  The question, of course, was if he was a good liar.  That remained to be seen.

Benson made his way over to his desk and sat down in his chair with a grunt.  He wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer and then sighed.  The government removed all the games from their computers and blocked most websites that had “game” associated with it anywhere.  He supposed he could attempt to do some actual work.

“Hey, Benson,” Ainsley said as he popped his head over the small divide that separated their sections of the faux-cubicle.

“Yes?” Benson asked, facing him.

“You wanna come take a look at this?”

“Sure,” he replied, not even caring what “this” was.

He walked around the desks and over to Ainsley’s side.  His desk was an organized mess with a few pictures and statuettes of things Benson assumed were from video games since that was predominantly what Ainsley talked about if work wasn’t an option.  Benson stole the chair from the desk behind Ainsley’s and pulled it up close.

“What’d you find?” Benson asked, looking at the Excel spreadsheets covering two monitors.

“Well, nothing,” Ainsley replied.

Benson looked at him.  “So…what did you ask me to come see?”

“Nothing.  I mean, the fact that I found nothing.  I didn’t find any patterns involving securities, stocks, trading times, brokers, banks, residential addresses, names, ages…nothing like that.  And there’s no information missing as far I can tell, so no one tried to hide anything.  I didn’t see anything that indicated that clients were pushed toward the fraudulent securities.  Like, there was never a whole bunch at once.  In fact, sometimes months would go by before one was hit.  If someone was trying to guide clients toward investing in the bad securities, they were doing a pretty bad job of it.”

“Hmm.”

“There is one curious thing though.”

“Curious is good.  I can work with that.”

“Well, you see, two of them have the same bank account number.”

Benson cocked his head.  “Like a joint account?”

“No.  Different banks.  You see, it’s not impossible for two people to have the same account number at different banks.  It’s just a string of numbers after all.  But it’s usually a string of at least ten or more numbers.  That’s at least ten  _trillion_  different combinations of numbers.  The odds that two banks issued the same number to two people is kind of, astronomically unlikely.”

“Which banks?”

Ainsley turned to his computer and searched through one of his spreadsheets.  “Um, one is a SunTrust account, and the other is Potomac First.”

“Potomac First.  Carpinelli mentioned that bank as being suspicious.  Not that we can trust him.  Who owns the Potomac First account?”

“A guy named Radek Podvodnik.”

“Hmm.  You wanna do an open source search on him?  Nothing that would require Assessment level requirements though.”

“Sure thing.  While we wait to get more leads from Jordan, we might have better luck researching this from the other end.”

“Meaning where the securities themselves come from and how were they entered into the stock market?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah.”  Benson sighed.  “I hate having to work on Wednesdays.”

Ainsley smiled.  “You get it done on Wednesday, it tends to clear up your Fridays.”

“You think so?  I tend to find that the more work I do on Wednesday, the more work accumulates for Friday.”

Ainsley laughed.  “Then you’re doing something wrong.”

“Apparently,” Benson said dryly.

He left Ainsley to his work and returned to his desk.  He unlocked his computer and looked at the internal messaging system box that listed his frequent contacts.  The little circles showed a variety of colors indicating whether people were online, active, away, or busy.  He grinned when he saw that next to Oska’s name was a green icon.  Apparently today was a classroom day and the new agent trainees were all logged onto the network.  He opened up a chat window.

_Hey, sweetheart.  What are you all doing?_

Oska replied almost immediately.   **Database searches.  Do we really need seventeen different kinds of databases?**

Benson smiled.   _Maybe.  I don’t know.  The IAs and SOSs do all that stuff._

**So why are they teaching it to us?**

_Buraucracy?  Who knows._

**They’ve only been doing it for an hour and I’m about to fall asleep.**

_We could have chat sex. >:)_

**Don’t they monitor these conversations?**

_I don’t know.  I’ve never tried to have chat sex before.  ButI have called my boss an idiot._

**Well, knowing my luck they will monitor new agents and I’ll get tossed out and we’ll have spent thirteen weeks apart for nothing.**

_spoilsport_

**Oh, yes, heaven forbid I try to keep my job.  You come up with a new nickname yet?**

_Still agaisnt sweetheart?_

**It sounds condescending.**

_Sugar.  We both like suger._

**It makes you sound like a Southern grandmother.**

_Well, we’re tying it out this week._

**You really suck at typing, you know that?**

_Blow me, sugar._

**If I were there…you know I’d be under your desk.**

Benson smiled and leaned back in his chair, repressing a longing groan of amusement.  He sat back up and typed.   _God, I want you.  All the time.  And not just for sex._

**The greatest compliment of all. ;) <3**

_Don’t send me hearts._

**8===D~~**

Benson laughed loudly and then cut himself off as the people around him glanced over at him.  His fingers tapped lightly on the keys as he contemplated a response, but Oska beat him to it.

**Did Jordan start that “thing” yet?**

_Today’s the first day._

**How do you think it’s going to go?**

Benson pursed his lips as he considered his response.   _???_

**This is the greatness I’m aspiring to as a Special Agent with the F-B of I?**

_Go back toyou databases_.

**Love you too, babe.**

_Bye, sugar._

**I don’t think I’m feeling that one.**

_Deal with it for now._

Benson opened up an email to check back in with the cyber squad who was helping them trace the origins of the fraudulent securities.  He was halfway through composing it when his chat box pinged.

**Still bored.**

Benson smiled, and replied.

~~~

Jordan inhaled deeply as he walked into the office building on Virginia Avenue.  He exhaled slowly as he made his way to the elevators.  He could do this _._

_Jordan Bell.  Jordan Bell.  Bordan Jell—wait, shit._

He got onto the elevator and rode it up to the fifteenth floor.  When he stepped out into the lobby of Klein & Klein, Megalyn had indeed been replaced.  The girl—woman, he corrected himself—was short and petite, pretty in a cute sort of way, with gorgeous blonde hair in large curls that hung just past her shoulders.

“Uh…hi,” Jordan began eloquently.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him, but she was giving him a friendly smirk.  “Hello.”

“I, uh…I work here.”

“Do you?”

“Yes?”

“Is that a question?”

“No!  I’m new.  My name is Jordan B…B-Bell.”

“Good morning, Mr. Bell.  I’m Arella Lewin.”

“You’re pretty name.  I mean.  That’s a pretty name.”

Arella smiled at him like he was a puppy who’d just been dunked into the bath and was  _not_  happy about it.

“Thank you, Mr. Bell.”

“Jordan.”

“Jordan.  I’ll call someone down to escort you to security to get your badge.”

“Th-thank you.”

Arella picked up the phone and Jordan turned partially away so he could roll his eyes at himself.  The fuck was his problem?  When Arella finished her call, Jordan turned back to her with a smile.

“So, you’re new here too?”

“Yep.  I started on Monday.”

“Are you new to the area?”

“No.  I’ve lived here a few years.  I just wanted a more stable job than retail could give me.”

“Yeah.”

Jordan had nothing else to say, so he stared at her.  Arella was polite enough not to call him a creeper and pull out the mace.  Fortunately a person from security rescued them after only a minute of excruciating awkwardness.

“Maybe I’ll see you around,” Jordan said as he followed his escort to the internal elevators.

“Sure.  Maybe we’ll bump into each other in the cafeteria or something,” Arella replied with a small laugh.

The elevator doors closed and the man, who had yet to introduce himself, pushed the button for the seventeenth floor.

“Don’t even bother,” he said, staring straight ahead.  “There’s a waiting list on that one.”

“A what?” Jordan asked.

“At least five other guys have called dibs on getting first crack at her.”

Jordan made a slightly annoyed face.  “Don’t you think she can decide for herself who she wants to talk to?”

“That’s not it how it works,” the guy said dismissively as they got off the elevator.

Jordan decided not to bother continuing the conversation.  The man was clearly an asshat and he had nothing more to say to him.  He was, however, forced to stay in his company as he verified his employment, entered him into the system, took a truly hideous picture of him with his eyes shut and mouth half open, and then printed out his badge.  When he was done, Jordan wondered if someone was going to show him to his desk (did he have a desk?) or was he just supposed to wander around like a confused, newborn moose.  It turned out neither was the case as Carpinelli was waiting for him when he left the security office.

“Oh, uh, hi.  Boss,” Jordan added with a small, ironic laugh.

John just smiled at him.  “I like the sound of that.  Come with me, Jordan.”

Jordan followed John to the internal elevators, feeling a little uneasy and totally  _not_  blushing because…well, whatever.  Because.  John was wearing a dark suit that wasn’t quite black, and tailored to fit his body to his a T.  John pushed the button for the nineteenth floor.

“Were you able to get in the internal system easily?” John asked.

“Uh, yeah.  I’ve got my badge and my username, and they gave me instructions on how to login to my account and email for the first time.”

“Excellent.”

They stepped off the elevator and John led them to a decently sized office that appeared to be amongst some storage rooms.

“I apologize for the isolation,” John said, “but we didn’t have any other offices available.”  He shut the door once they were inside.  “I wanted you to have a place where you could work without the worry of people walking up behind you.  In case you’re working on anything case related.”

“Oh.  Thank you.”

“I’ve explained to the employees that due to the fraud we’re experiencing, you’ve been hired to evaluate our operations and security procedures to look for gaps or inconsistencies.  As such, everyone has been informed that you will be asking questions about their everyday work roles and functions.  You should meet with little resistance and suspicion.”

“Uh, again.  Thank you.”

“Of course.  Despite our differing managerial styles, Chris and I are both dedicated to having this resolved quickly and discreetly.”

“We’re investigating this from all angles.”

“I feel confident being in your capable hands.”

Jordan smiled and nodded, and couldn’t quite decide if that was intentional double entendre.

“Now, I’ll take you on a tour of the building myself.  Show you the lavatories, the cafeteria.  I also want to personally introduce you to most everyone; just to emphasize that your presence and eventual questioning are completely sanctioned by management.”

“Great.  Let’s get started.”

Jordan spent most of his first day trailing behind John, meeting more people than he could possibly remember, learning where every single bathroom and supply closet in the company was, and in general being prevented from actually talking to anyone.  He’d eaten lunch with John because the man had offered to buy his meal for him on his first day.  He’d reminded John that he wasn’t actually one of his employees, but the man had just smiled and put a hand on the small of his back as he he’d led him to the gourmet cafeteria on the second floor of the building.

Eating lunch with John had afforded him one interesting event.  They had eaten in Jordan's office, and Chris had come in asking to speak with John.  They’d stepped out into the hallway, but the door had remained cracked open.  Jordan had crept closer and listened to them argue, very heatedly, about what Jordan would be doing and what kind of access he had been given.  It seemed like Chris thought he’d been given too much access and John implied that he had him under control.  He’d slipped back to his desk before John had come in, apologizing for the interruption.

By the end of the day, Jordan hadn’t learned much about the employees of Klein & Klein and very little about what it was they actually did all day.  But with the promise that John sadly wouldn’t be able to work with him as closely the next day, Jordan thought perhaps he might be able to begin his investigation.  On his way out, he saw Arella still at her post.

“Long hours?” Jordan asked.

Along shrugged.  “Since it’s my first week I don’t want to come off as a slacker.  But, I’ll be leaving soon.”

“Okay.  Have a nice night.”

“You too.  And maybe tomorrow, we can try that bumping into each other in the cafeteria thing.”

“Uh.  Yeah.  Sure.  That’d be great.  Goodnight.”

Jordan took the Metro back to WFO, and was surprised to find Benson still sitting at his desk, scowling at an Excel spreadsheet.

“You know, I hear if you stare at those things long enough, the cells all blur together and give you the answer you’re searching for.”

Benson looked over at him with a small frown and then rubbed his eyes.  “I hate computers.  How was your first day?”

“Frustratingly unproductive.  Carpinelli wouldn’t leave my side the whole day so I couldn’t talk to anybody.”

Benson snorted in amusement.

“Shut up.  I think he does that with all his new employees.  He had to keep up appearances.”

“Sure, sure.  All his employees with a nice ass, killer abs, and eyes like the sun blazing through green glass.”

“Oh my God, bite me.  And when did you see my abs?  And what did you say about my eyes?”

Benson chuckled.  “Don’t worry about it.  So, do you think you’ll be able to find out anything useful?”

“Maybe.  I’ve been given carte blanche to talk to anyone about their jobs, so it’ll kind of be like interviewing everyone like we would for official business.”

“Nice.  No leads yet, I guess.”

“Not even close.  I am making friends with the new receptionist.  If she has access to personnel records, maybe I can get her to look into a few things for me.”

“So they did replace the woman we met?”

“Yeah.  I hope they didn’t just fire her without warning though.”

“Is the new one as cute as the old?”

“That’s hardly relevant to the investigation.”

Benson grinned.  “She’s cute then.”

Jordan rolled his eyes and sat back in his chair.  “She’s alright.”

 

**Thursday, July 17, 2014**

 

The next morning Jordan was ready to begin his investigation.  He decided to start with the brokers since they had the most direct access to the clients and were the ones responsible for recording their decisions.  Apparently when people’s boss tells them he’s hired an internal investigator, it made them a little paranoid.

Every person he interviewed was alternately prickly and tightlipped or nervous and accusatory.  Every person seemed inclined to throw someone under the bus.  Jordan tried to explain that he wasn’t trying to find out whom if anyone was responsible for the fraudulent securities; he just wanted to evaluate the process and practices.  That seemed to have little impact on them and by lunch Jordan felt more like the office therapist than the QC guy.

On his way to the cafeteria, he walked slowly through the Klein & Klein lobby on his way to the external elevators.  He told himself he was just trying to build up the courage to ask Arella to join him for lunch, but really he was waiting for her to do the hard work.  Which, thankfully, she did.

“Oh, hey, Jordan.”

“Hi, Arella.”

“Are you heading to lunch?”

“Yeah.  Just to the cafeteria.  I still have a lot of interviews to do.”

“I see.  Would you mind some company?”

“No.  I mean, yes.  I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind having company.  If you’d like to join me.”

“I would.  Let me just set the call forwarding to Britt’s desk.”

“Do you not have anyone to back you up?”

“Nope.  It’s just me.”

“What happens if you call in sick or go on vacation?”

Arella grinned as she came around the side of the large desk, wearing a dark blue skirt suit that accented her figure nicely.  “Not my problem.  Let’s go to lunch.”

The fact that Arella lampooned their lunch choices of market vegetable chopped salad with petite herbs and champagne vinaigrette or braised Black Angus short ribs with carrot puree, chanterelles, and fava beans let Jordan know that she wasn’t caught up in the ridiculous pretentiousness that seemed to pervade Klein & Klein.  They sat in a quiet corner avoiding the sunlight that made sitting by a window feel like they were ants under a magnifying glass.  Arella had the salad and Jordan had the short ribs, and they had to grudgingly admit that the food was good.

“So, Jordan, you’re here to sniff out the bad guys, right?”

Jordan paused as he took a sip of his water.  “W-what?”

“Is that why Mr. Carpinelli hired you?”

“Oh.  Oh.  No.  I’m here to evaluate the process to see if there are any security gaps.”

“Yeah, right.  Everyone knows you’re investigating the employees.  At least you don’t have to be suspicious of me, right?  I’m brand new.”

“That declaration in and of itself makes you sound suspicious.”

“How so?” Arella asked with a laugh that lit up her whole face.  She really was frickin’ adorable.

“You’re probing me for information, pointing out how you couldn’t possibly be guilty.  Classic signs of a schemer.”

“So you think you should probe me instead?”

Jordan smiled against the implication of her words.  “I’m just saying that your beautiful smile and sweet eyes are not going to blind me to my work.”

Arella delicately plucked a tomato from her salad and put it to her lips.  She smiled and then gently sucked on her fingertip as she ate it.

“Aw.  You think I’m beautiful.”

Jordan had a little trouble focusing on her words.  “Um.  Maybe.”  He cleared his throat.  “Or maybe I’m just using you.  You have access to everyone's personnel files, right?”

“I do.”

“Well then.  Maybe I’m just trying to get on your good side.”

“It’s working.”

“Yeah?” Jordan asked with a little too much eagerness.

“Mm-hmm.  You ever come across anyone suspicious, you come to me and we’ll snoop together.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jordan took another bite of his lunch feeling rather pleased with himself.  That had been easy to get her on his side.

~~~

“Maybe it was a little too easy,” Benson said as he kept his cell phone tucked against his head with his shoulder.  He typed into the search box on the Lubbock, Texas police department’s homepage for another number to try.  He’d gotten two disconnected numbers, one dial tone, and three endlessly ringing attempts.  He hoped 911 served Lubbock well because the police department certainly wasn’t making it easy to be contacted by their citizens.  He tried another number with his office phone on speaker as Jordan sputtered in his ear.

“You think so?  Like, she’s using me?  How?  She’s brand new.  She couldn’t possibly be guilty.”

“Unless she’s working for the guy who is.  Or she was hired by Carpinelli and Klein to keep track of you.”

“Shit.”

“Jordan, relax.  I was mostly kidding.  It was too easy of an opening.  Just, be aware of what she offers, what she asks of you, that sort of thing.  It’s entirely possible that you’ve got yourself a source.  Did anybody stand out that you interviewed?  Disgruntled employees or overly nervous ones?”

“Well, let’s see.  There’s Gary who hasn’t been able to concentrate since his cat died in May.  He’s worried that maybe he didn’t pay attention to his work as closely as he should have, but his wife was trying to make him pick a new kitten because they need a new Tom for their prize Persian show cat’s bloodline.  Or there’s Candice, who has ‘worked her ass off for this company’ and is constantly passed over for promotions because she’s a woman.  Or there’s Greg who knows that Terence is the one who is behind all this, and Terence just knows that Greg keeps his nose buried up the boss’ butts so that they can’t see all the crap he’s pulling.”

Benson smiled.  “Sounds like an office full of delightful people.”

“Oh, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.  Did you know that Alison and Embry were totally together, but then Jessica had to make a play for Embry and Alison was so angry that the whole fraudulent securities thing was probably faked because it would affect Jessica’s accounts the most?”

Benson laughed.  “Sounds like high school.”

“Dude.  When I was in high school, we didn’t have this much drama.”

“Anything stand out at all?”

“Yeah, actually, that everyone is certain that they didn’t mistakenly enter their clients’ information or requests.  They have redundancy systems in place, and are required to do a crosscheck before the investments are made.  It seems really unlikely that anything is being changed behind the brokers’ backs.”

“Which means that the brokers would be the best suspects.”

“Yeah, I guess, but no one broker is fully responsible for each account.  And they don’t work in pairs, they rotate who they work with and the same two people don’t do the crosscheck on the same account twice.  Or at least not until a complete cycle of brokers is completed, but that could take months or even a year.”

“Well, Ainsley did say that they sometimes went months without hitting one of the bogies.”

“Hm.  I think I’m going to hit up the assistants and clerks next.  Find out how much of this redundancy is actually done by the brokers and how much is pushed off onto their assistants.”

“Sounds good.  Will you—”

“Hello?” A voice asked out of the speakerphone.

“Oh, I gotta go.  You coming back to the office tonight?”

“Nah, got roped into a company happy hour.”

“Hello?” the person on the speakerphone asked, irritation growing.

“Gotcha.  Talk later.”

Benson fumbled with his cell phone and picked up his desk phone.

“Hello?  Hello!”

“Yes.  This is the Lubbock Police Department.”

“Hello.  I’m Special Agent Benson Remick with the FBI.  We’ve recently become aware of some new information regarding the Lubbock Lady Killer case and I’d like to—”

“Lubbock Lady Killer?  Son,” the elderly sounding woman said, “that’s a cold case.  Over fifteen years old.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’m aware.  But we’ve gotten some new evidence that might require it to be reopened.  I—”

“Well, you’ll have to talk with Tracy.  He’s the only one who does cold cases here.”

“Um, okay, can I—”

“One moment.”

Staticky elevator music began to play in Benson’s ear.  He sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling.

He’d decided to take a break from reading through the information Ainsley had pulled from open sources on the prominent managers and owners of the Potomac First bank and do some research on Russ’ hint about the Lubbock Lady Killer.

Eight college aged women had been raped and murdered in Lubbock and the surrounding county over a four year period from 1995 to 1999.  It was possible there had been more, but the bodies hadn’t been found.  Benson suspected that if it had in fact been Russ that he wouldn’t have hidden his kills.  He was too much of a narcissist for that.

The murders took place predominantly in September, October, April, and May.  There were a couple of outliers, one each in November and February, but none from June to August or December to January.  The women had been completely shaved and then waxed while they were still alive, including their heads and eyebrows.  The description of the sexual assault was vague and the cause of death in each was suffocation.  The bodies had been left in easy to find locations, staged in provocative sexual positions.

Lubbock had been terrorized for years even after the murders appeared to have stopped.  Attendance at Texas Tech had declined steadily for nearly a decade before starting to rise back to pre-Lady Killer levels.  The whole thing sounded right up Russ’ alley, but he tended to kill in spurts in one area.  It seemed odd that he would have spread out his kills over a four year time period.  Although, this would have been when he was still new to killing.  Humans, anyway.

“Hello?” a man’s voice with a thick Texas twang suddenly rang in his ear.

“Oh.  Uh.  Hi.  I’m Spec—”

“I know.  FBI.  What can I do for you?  Something about the Lady Killer?”

“Uh, yes, sir.  We’ve been given a credible lead that may identify the killer.  I wanted to speak with someone about the case and see if I could get some details that weren’t available to the public.  Or if there were any forensic records that we might be able to use for comparisons.”

“Well, to be honest, agent, our forensics back in the 90’s weren’t so high tech.  This case was the first that DNA ev’dence was even gathered up.  All of it got used for testing and they didn’t think about saving any.  And I’m not sure how useful what we have now would be for trying to match based on modern analysis.”

Benson felt a little disappointment, but he’d been expecting that news.  “Is there anything you can tell me about the case that was LES and not released to the public?  Any theories or persons of interest you never broadcasted?”

“Welllll, I guess you know about the peculiarity of  _when_  they were killed.”

“Yes, it did seem to be confined to certain months.”

“Mm.  Semesters.  Best we figured it was a student, which is why they stopped after four years.  The bastard graduated.  Pardon my language.”

Benson didn’t even register the language because he was kicking himself for not seeing the pattern himself.  There were no kills during summer break, nor during winter break.  It was a college town and all of the victims had been students or women who visited college hangouts.  He’d thoroughly researched and memorized Russ’ life by this point, so he was well aware that the guy had gone to Texas Tech.  Benson had just thought that he’d picked the Lubbock Lady Killer because he’d heard of it having gone to school there, but it made sense that at the same time he’d been working on his degree that he’d been honing his craft.

“Can I ask about the sexual assault?  It was very vague in the report I read, but do you know if the killer used prosthetic phalluses or if it was done pre or postmortem?”

Dean could actually  _hear_  the man’s face of disgust.

“Prosthetic phalluses,” the words fit awkwardly in his mouth.  “You mean like, a…”

“A dildo.  Or other tools or utensils.”

“Well…I remember the cor’nor telling us they were pretty ripped up.  Never figured to ask what exactly had done the tearing.”

“Did the coroner know if the rapes had occurred while the women were still living?”

“I don’t quite recollect that part, but I do remember that he said unnatural things were done to the corpses.  I just thought he meant the weird positions.”

Benson refrained from sarcastically commenting on the stellar work of the Lubbock PD.  It’s possible this guy hadn’t been the principal investigator, but the whole handling of the case sounded a little too much like backwater incompetency for a town with a university that churned out engineers.

“I see.  One last question.  Do you remember if there were any marks on the body?  Like brands?  Or tattoos?  Scarring?  Particularly on or under the tongues?”

“I don’t recall there being any marks on the bodies; that seemed to be the point that, externally at least, they were pristine like dolls.  They had cards with them.  We kept that out of the papers to prevent false confessions.  Each girl had a piece of flowery stationary with her with a name written on it.  It wasn’t the vic’s name, or any of her family members or friends.  We never did figure out a connection.”

“What kind of names?”

“Just…girls names.  I still remember them.  Looked at them every day for years.  Madeline.  Ruth.  Megan.  Andrea.  Jill.  Catherine.  Amber.  And…I always messed up the last one.  It wasn’t Natalie, but, something like it…”

“Natalia?” Benson asked, swallowing hard.

“Yeah, that’s it.  Good guess.”

“Yeah…”

It wasn’t a guess.  Of course it wasn’t.  Madeline was Russ’ mother’s name.  He had two sisters named Ruth and Megan.  Andrea…that was Oska’s ex-wife and a girl that had probably used Russ to make Oska jealous when she’d gone to a school dance with him.  Natalia had to be Oska’s sister—either his obsession with Oska had started a long time ago or Natalia had rejected his advances.  Jill, Catherine, Amber…they were probably women that had ties to Russ somehow.  He’d systematically killed the women in his life by proxy.

“W-were,” Benson had to lick his lips, but his mouth had gone dry.  “Were any of the women embalmed and buried?”

“I think a couple were cremated, but most were buried.  Even embalmed and in an airtight casket, I’m not too sure what the soft tissues would look like after fifteen years.”

“That’s a good point.  Do you think any of the families would be amenable to exhumation?”

“My gut says not too many of ‘em, and I wouldn’t want to be the one to ask.”

“Yeah…”

“Son, why you bringing all this up again?  You said you have a lead, but this case went colder than a witch’s tit.”

Benson repressed his snicker at the analogy.  “Um.  Well, I don’t want to reveal it just yet because it involves a current high profile case that I don’t want to disturb the proceedings on.  I was just trying to assess if there was any credibility to the information.  To see if it would be worth disturbing old wounds.”

“And?”

“And…I think there’s a good chance we might be able to give the families of those women some justice.  I apologize for being cryptic, but the legal system moves slowly enough without introducing new charges.”

“Now ain’t that the God’s honest truth.  Alright, Agent, you go about your Secret Squirrel-in’ all you like.  But I expect the Bureau will pay us the courtesy of contacting us first before reaching out to the victims’ families with the same kind of vague nonsense we’ve discussed here.”

“Yes, sir, I understand.  We absolutely will come to the Lubbock PD if we think there’s enough evidence to reopen the case.”

“I ‘preciate that.  So many of you G-men get a little high on your horse sometimes.  It’s good to know some of you have manners.”

“Uh…thank you.”

“Alright.  You have a good day.  I’ve got a meth head treed by a right ornery gander to deal with.”

“Uh…good luck with that.”

“Thanks.”

The Texas—officer, detective? he’d never introduced himself—hung up and Benson put the phone back in the cradle.  He rubbed his hands over his face and concentrated on willing away the anxious unease that was squeezing his chest and stomach.

Part of him hadn’t believed Russ.  He’d done the DC killings, sure, but that had been it until he’d started killing in Elton.  The thought that Russ had been murdering several people every year for fifteen years had been too horrifying to really contemplate.  Russ had been so evasive when being questioned that Benson had really thought he’d just made it all up to save his life and to keep his attention.  He was almost certain now that Russ might be one of the most prolific serial killers in American history.

Now he wondered about all of those women in Russ’ life.  Natalia he had decided to kill for real.  As far as he knew, Oska’s ex-wife was still alive in California, but what about Russ’ mother and sister?  Megan was still alive; Benson knew because he’d interviewed her.  However, they’d never been able to track down Ruth, and Madeline had died, supposedly of cancer, about six years ago.  Benson couldn’t help but wonder if Russ had killed his mother and sister.  It was sickeningly feasible.

Benson checked the clock on his computer.  It wasn’t even five o’clock yet.  Agents got paid an availability bonus due to long hours and the need to be available 24 hours a day, 365 days a year.  He would feel a little dishonest if he was to bail after not even eight hours of work, but he couldn’t concentrate on something so routine as hackers stealing from rich people.

“To hell with it,” he muttered, shutting down his computer.  He could use a couple hours of annual leave.

He said goodbye to Ainsley and then gave a perfunctory announcement of his departure to his SSA.

“Hunh?  What?” Bob grunted from his office.

Benson didn’t go back to make sure he knew he was gone.  He had his Blackberry.  If they needed him they could call him.  He texted Jordan to let him know he’d left the office so he should enjoy himself at the happy hour, but since he was still technically working he’d couldn’t drink.  Jordan had sent back a string of unhappy and sad face emoji.  Benson chuckled but didn’t respond.  He actually had no idea what the policy was on drinking while maintaining one’s UC status.

Even when leaving work early, traffic did its best to eat his soul.  It may have succeeded; it was so hard to tell when Oska wasn’t around.  Charlie refused to go more than a block on their “walk” and then hid on her bed in the corner and refused to eat.  Benson sat at the table and ate leftover Chinese food while staring gloomily at the full dog bowl.  He checked the time: Oska might be eating dinner or at the gym or studying or working on a group project.  Tonight he couldn’t find it in himself to be a good boyfriend—heck, fiancé—and let Oska concentrate on himself.  He connected to Oska’s number and put the phone on speaker.

“Hi, babe," Oska greeted him.

Charlie’s ear flickered.

“Hey, sugar.  Oh, yeah.  That sounds terrible out loud.”

Oska laughed.  “I’m glad we can agree on that.”

“Well, it’s back to sweetheart for the rest of the week then.”

Oska sighed.  “Fine.

Charlie had lifted her head and there was a hint of a wag in her tail.

“Did you call for any reason in particular?  Or just ‘cause?”

“Charlie won’t eat.”

“Ah.  Am I on speaker?”

“Yes.”

“Charlie!  Come here!”

Charlie got up and walked over to the kitchen with cautious optimism.

“Did she come?”

“Of course,” Dean pouted.

The smile was clear in Oska’s voice when he spoke again.  “Good girl, Charlie.  Now.  Eat your dinner.”

Charlie glanced at the bowl and then back at Benson.

“Try again,” Benson said.

“Charlie.  Eat.”

The dog walked over to her bowl and gave the wet stuff a half-hearted lick.  And then another, and then she began to eat ravenously as if she just realized she was hungry.

“She eating?”

“Yep.”

“Good.  Now, what can I do for  _you_?”

_Come home._   Benson kept the words behind his teeth.  “Just talk, sweetheart.  Let me hear your voice.”

“One of those days, huh?”

“Not really.  I just…”

Benson didn’t know if he should tell Oska about Russ’ connection to the Lubbock Lady Killer.  Natalia was already dead after all, though his ex-wife wasn’t.  Of course, Russ was in jail so he couldn’t hurt her.  But he had disciples…Benson decided to sit on it until Oska graduated.  He wouldn’t be able to move forward with reopening the case until he was certain that there were no more delays or barriers in prosecuting him for the Elton and DC murders.

“I just miss you.  I keep thinking about every day is one day closer to us being back together, but all it does is remind me that we’re not together currently.”

“When did you turn into such a sap?”

“I’m not a sap,” Benson groused.  “Don’t you miss me?”

“Only when I’m breathing.”

Benson smiled and picked apart the rice in his General Tso chicken with his chopsticks.

“Who’s the sap now?”

“Both, babe.  We’re both total manly-men saps.  So, when you were in class, did you guys have to do joint projects with the IA class?”

Benson listened to Oska chatter as he finished dinner, and while he cleaned up the kitchen.  Then he took his phone to the living room and stretched out on the couch, still listening.  Charlie hopped up onto the couch with him and settled her chin on his stomach so that she could listen to Oska’s voice.  Oska talked until curfew, and then with lingering I love yous and reluctant goodbyes, they ended the call.  Benson looked down at Charlie.  She watched him with her big, soulful eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” he said,” scratching behind her ears.  “Couple’a saps.  Don’t tell on us.”

 

**Friday, July 18, 2014**

 

“So, then,” Brock, Carpinelli’s personal assistant, continued.  “He says, ‘If the copy machine doesn’t work, it’s probably an operator error.’”  He stopped his pacing and turned in incredulous look on Jordan.  “Can you believe it?”

Jordan jerked out of his stupor, glazed eyes focusing on the kid again.  “Um…”

“Like, he said it like I wouldn’t understand what an operator error was.  And like, it wasn’t.  It was broken.  And we needed to call in a repairman.  And he’s not going to let me use the copier on his side because it’s ‘Only for Chris’s work,’ and that I should go downstairs to make copies.  Do you see the kind of BS I have to put up with?”

“Um.  Yes.  It seems hellish.  But, that doesn’t answer my question.”

“What was your question?”

“What’s it like working for John?”

“Oh.  Good.  He’s a great boss.  He’s very hands on, but not a micromanager.  And I assist him with almost everything related to computers.  That is something he’s a little clueless about.  So, I know for a fact that he has nothing to do with any of those fraudulent securities.  I mean, it wouldn’t make sense for him to sabotage his own company, would it?”

“No, no it wouldn’t.  But, being the boss does make it easier to embezzle money.”

“He does not—!”

Jordan put up his hands.  “I’m not saying he is.  Also, I’m not really here about that.  It’s not my job to catch whoever is responsible for that.  I think the trace commission or SEC does that stuff.  I’m just here to evaluate how the machine operates.  I’m just curious if anyone outside of the brokers or their clerks have access to the client files or can manipulate where investment money is siphoned.  It’s not about if anyone has actually done it; I just need to know who can.”

“Oh.  Well.  While Dylan and I do both have access to virtually all of the information related to the clients and their investments, it’s all locked.  We can view it, but we can’t edit it.  Nor do we have access to the program that does the actual transferring of money from bank accounts to investments.”

“Who does have access to that program?”

“The brokers who are assigned to certain clients.  And some of their clerks.”

“Who is the gatekeeper to having access?”

“Gatekeeper?” the kid snickered.  “This isn’t D&D, bro.”

“Yeah…who gives out the permissions?”

“The IT guys.”

“Okay.  Well, thank you for talking with me today.”

“No problem.  But seriously, remember that John is awesome.  Like, super nice.  Do you like him?”

“What?” Jordan looked up from his laptop, bewildered by the question.

“Like, you look at him weird.  He gave you a job.  You should be grateful.”

“I am.”

“So you like him then?”

“Did he ask you to ask me that?”

“What?  No!”  The look on the kid’s face indicated that, yes, he did.  “He’s just really concerned about employee morale.  And he wouldn’t want anyone working for him who feels uncomfortable around him.”

“I don’t feel uncomfortable around him.  I’m very grateful for my job and I appreciate his intense attention to detail.”

“Yeah.”  Brock narrowed his eyes.  “Okay then.  When are you meeting with Dylan?”

“I already had my meeting with him.”

Brock’s face scrunched up into indignant suspicion.  “I knew it!  He said he wasn’t meeting you until after lunch.  Look, whatever he said isn’t true.  John is—”

“Great.  Yes, I know.  Don’t worry, Brock.  Dylan didn’t say anything about John that you didn’t say about Chris.”

Brock at least had the good grace to look abashed at that reminder.  He hadn’t been terribly flattering of Chris’s character or managerial style.

“Oh.  Well.  Dylan exaggerates.”

“Thank you for your time, Brock.”

Brock nodded and left the office.  Jordan sat back in his chair and let his head fall back as he groaned softly.  This company was full of nothing but yahoos scheming against each other to get ahead.  He sat up when his Blackberry rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jay, it’s Benson.  Can you slip out to meet for lunch?”

“Yeah.  When?”

“You free now?”

“Yeah, I can take a break.  I’ll meet you at the Subway three blocks from the building.”

“Okay.  See you in a few.”

Jordan shut down his laptop and locked his office when he left.  There was nothing compromising in there, he kept his coded notes on a small notepad in his pants pocket, but he thought the charade of security might help maintain his cover.  He was certain John and Chris had a key to the room and could go in and out as they pleased, but they wouldn’t find anything useful.

When he entered the lobby of Klein & Klein, he swung by the front desk.  Arella smiled at him when she saw him.  She had on cherry red lipstick that emphasized her perfect lips against her porcelain skin.  Her hair was pulled up on one side with a flower barrette holding it in the place.  The rest of her golden curls cascaded down to the white blouse with a fashionable lace collar.

Jordan had never paid so much attention to the way a woman presented herself before.  He noticed women’s clothes about as much as he did men’s.  What a person was wearing made no difference to who they were as a person, which was the most important part.  He’d noticed Ann always wore the same blue and black business suits, and that she mostly wore jeans and a T-shirt when they had gone on dates, but he didn’t think that was the same.

“Hi, Jordan.  Early lunch today?”

“Yeah.  I’m actually meeting a friend, so I wanted to let you know I can’t join you today.”

“Ugh,” Arella grumbled, not too superficial to worry about making any ugly face.  “You realize this means the creepy guy in security is going to ask today.  I swear, it’s like they’re all in a line, taking their turn.”

“Yeah…”  Jordan decided not to confirm that suspicion.  “Sorry about that.  But, can I take a raincheck for Monday?”

“Absolutely.  But only if you take me somewhere out of the building too.”

“I can do that,” Jordan said with a smile.

“I expect the same level of treatment as whoever this mystery lunch date of yours is.”

“So, Subway sandwiches?”

“Oh.  Not fancy then.”

“No.  Not fancy.  Not a lunch date either.   _He’s_  a friend.”

“Don’t emphasize the word ‘he’ at me like that explains everything and makes a romantic rival an impossibility.”

“It is for me!”

“Sure, sure.  Everyone says that until they’re tongue-deep in their college roommate’s lesbian best friend.”

Jordan laughed loudly enough to make the two businessmen in the waiting room look over at him grumpily.  Jordan patted the top of the counter and stepped back.

“That’s an experience I, unfortunately, have never had.”

“Enjoy your lunch.”

“Will do.”

Jordan turned and walked to the external elevators, pushing the down button.  One was waiting and binged as the doors opened.  Jordan stepped inside and turned around to look at Arella at her desk.

“Did you say romantic  _rival_?”

Arella just smiled and the doors slid closed.

 

“What’s up with you?” Benson asked and then took a bite of his sandwich.

Jordan looked up from his meatball sub and debated whether or not they should waste their operational time to gossip about girls like middle schoolers.

“So, about the whole get under someone else thing you suggested…”

Benson raised his eyebrows as he chewed.

“Would it be a bad idea to do that with someone who works at the company I’m pretending to work for because they might all be criminals?”

Benson took a sip of his soda.  “Is it the receptionist chick?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she cute?”

“Very cute.  And funny.”

“Well, to be honest I’m sure you’re well aware of what the Bureau policy on that would be, so you don’t need to hear it from me.”

“No?”

“Hell no, more precisely.  However…”

“However?”

“A little flirting wouldn’t hurt.  A date or two could be passed off as intel gathering.  If you hook up with her though…would it be worth the risk?”

“I’m not talking about ignoring reason to follow my heart here or anything.”

“No, I know.  I mean, is she hot enough to risk getting in trouble?”

“It’s also not that shallow…”

“Dude.  Just bang her if she offers.  This is the first time there’s been two days together that you haven’t been moping over Ann.”

Jordan sat back in his chair and scowled at his sandwich.  “This isn’t about Ann.”

“Precisely.  But, until you figure out what you’re going to do about Receptionist Chick—”

“Arella.”

“Arella.  I can’t offer up any more advice on that subject.  So, you got anything on the case?”

“Not really.  The personal assistants to Chris and John have some serious beef, and I wouldn’t put it past either of them to try to sabotage the other to make their boss look bad.  But, I don’t think they have the access or even the knowhow to pull off something like securities fraud.  It’s more of a petty rivalry; not felonious enterprise.”

“Nothing panned out with the brokers?”

“Not really.  The system they have in place seems to police them pretty well.  There are a couple of people I might look into further, but for the most part, they would only be able to influence their clients’ investment decisions.  And we’ve determined that basically every single broker sent a client to one of the bogies once or twice, but not repeatedly, nor even sporadically over time.”

“Do you have anyone else you need to look at?”

“Well I still need to interview the security team and the IT department.  They could potentially have access to everything, but they couldn’t secretly change where people are investing.  The brokers would have noticed if what they submitted to the program had been changed.”

Benson nodded and crunched on an apple slice; he’d taken the healthy option as opposed to the bag of chips that Jordan had selected.  Jordan self-consciously bit into his chip.

“Have you made any progress with John?” Benson asked.

“What kind of ‘progress?’” Jordan asked with narrowed eyes.

Benson shrugged.  “Just, you know, wondering if you were using your wiles on him to give up his secrets.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh come on,” Benson laughed.  “Has he been bothering you?”

“Well, no, not really.  He leaves me alone to conduct my interviews with everyone…and the weird vibe I get isn’t that he wants to sleep with me, but he wants to know if I’m digging up any dirt on Chris.”

“Is there anything to dig up?”

“I don’t know if I could figure that out from my end.  How’s it going from yours?”

“Not great.  The fake securities had layers of encryption on them that bounced them around from IP address to IP address.  The cyber squad wasn’t able to determine a point of origin on them.  However, I did notice that the investment rate at Klein & Klein was different than the other firms we’re investigating.  Klein & Klein doesn’t have any patterns of investors being directed toward them.”

“Yes,” Jordan said around a large bite of sandwich; Benson made a face.  “We have already established that, like, six times.”

“I know and what I’m saying is that that is unusual.  The other firms around the country have been able to pretty easily identify employees that seem to be in the know.  I was talking to someone in the New York office and they think it might actually be a nationally executed scheme with a few smaller firms being unwitting prey as they just happened to pick up on those particular securities.”

“So…it’s possible everyone at Klein & Klein is perfectly innocent.”

“Possibly.  But, I noticed something else in the data Ainsley compiled.  Yeah, a few people lost money on the false securities.  They are victims of the large scam that was being run.  But I also noticed that some investors lost money on totally legitimate stocks.”

“Isn’t that how the stock market works?”

“Yeah, of course, but out of curiosity I checked how those securities did the day they were invested.  All of them went down which explains the loss in money.  Except one.  One actually went up.  By a lot.  But the client lost money.  I checked if anyone else has invested in that stock that day.  Three others had.  Now, all three did make money that day because the price on shares had gone up by quite a bit.  However, the payout that the clients got appeared to be less than what it should have been.”

“Is that something the brokers or clerks or even the clients themselves would notice?”

Benson shrugged.  “Maybe, maybe not.  The amount of money missing was pretty miniscule.  It would be hard to notice when you have a lot of money already.  Especially if there is a constant fluctuation of other investments.  I never would have caught it if there hadn’t been the slip up of the client losing money on a very successful stock.  Most of the others have been small amounts of money going missing from minimally succeeding securities.”

“So, we don’t have a securities fraud case here; we have an embezzler.”

Benson nodded.  “I think so.  And I think they would have gone on undetected if some of the clients hadn't taken advice from that website to try the fraudulent securities put out there by this national group.”

“So, everything I’ve been doing has been for nothing.”

“No, not nothing.  It’s given you an idea of who’s disgruntled and who’s trustworthy.  I think you should stay on and see if anyone noticed that someone started talking about sudden expensive purchases or extravagant vacations.  Also, you’ll have to turn a more discerning eye on Chris and John.  It took them weeks to arrange an interview with us after they contacted us about the fraudulent securities.  They may have been reluctant to speak to us until they could cover up the embezzling.”

“So, you think I shouldn’t tell Chris or John about the embezzling and just keep acting like I’m investigating the fraud?”

“For now.  The squad has a meeting later today and I’m going to present my findings to Bob.  We’ll probably have to take this to the SAC or even the ADIC, but I think everyone will agree to a shift of the focus of our investigation.”

Jordan sighed and rubbed his forehead.  “Fantastic.  Now I’m undercover for real.”

Benson grinned.  “Now you do have to be careful about not blowing the investigation.”

Jordan glared at him.

~~~

Benson felt a headache forming as he followed the correctional officer down the hallway, and he wasn’t even in the same room as Russ yet.  He kind of wished there hadn’t been any evidence to support that Russ was the Lubbock Lady Killer.  Then he could have just blown him off and never gone back, believing that he was making up stories about other kills to keep Benson hostage.  There were too many coincidences though for him to ignore the possibility that Russ was responsible for those eight deaths.  If he could tell the families of those women that their killer was behind bars for life, it might give them some measure of peace.

Russ was already seated and chained to the table when he arrived.  The man smiled and leaned his arms on the table, putting himself as close to Benson’s side of the table as he could.  Benson ignored his bid for eye contact as he pulled out his chair slowly and took a seat about a foot away from the table.

“Good afternoon, Russ.”

“Benson.”

“So.  You raped and murdered eight women when you were at college.  And named them after your mother and sisters.”  Benson gave him a mock admonishing look.  “You said back in Elton that the Angel Slayer didn’t have mommy issues.”

Russ grinned.  “No, I didn’t.  I just complained that you made the assumption.”

“So, will you write a confession for those murders?  Did you have help?”

Russ sat back in his chair.  “Hmm…I remember those murders.  Lubbock Lady Killer.  Stupid name.  Angel Slayer is stupid too, but at least it has some gravitas.”

Benson crossed his legs and didn’t comment.

“Yeah, I was at Texas Tech when they happened.  I remember that everyone on campus was freaked out.  A lot of girls actually quit school or transferred schools.  Which seems stupid in retrospect because as I recall only a couple of the victims were actually students.  They tried to keep most of the details out of the paper, but there was a particularly curious member of the school paper who was fascinated by them and kept reporting on them.  He even published some leaked photos so that everyone could see how the bodies were left.  Can you believe actual papers refused to publish them?  The Internet was still too young back then for them to be splashed everywhere with a simple content advisory.”

“What leaked photos?  Where did they come from?”

Russ shrugged.  “I wasn’t really friends with the newspaper guy.  Bit of a nerd.  Thought way too highly of himself.  He probably would have been your type since you seem into the people who find glory by ‘helping people.’”

Benson gave a slight shake of his head.  “You know, between the two of us, you seem more interested in Oska than I am.”

“I’m interested in your appallingly bad taste in men.”

“Well, I can’t argue with you on that.  The only other guy I ever dated was a closeted douche bag.  Anyway, the photos.  Did you give them to the student journalist?”

“No.  Even hypothetically I wouldn’t take photos of my kills.”

“Just trophies.”

Russ shrugged again.  “So, the guy published them.  The killer was creative.  Pretty twisted too.  Completely shaved, eyes propped open, legs splayed wide…he was making art.”

“He.   _You_.”

Russ shrugged.  “Perhaps the Lubbock Lady Killer was only my inspiration.  I was a student, Benson.  I had midterms and papers and projects and extracurricular activities.  I had a pretty active dating life.  Who has time to kill?  Even if it was only one a semester.  One to settle the nerves at the beginning of the new school year, and one to celebrate the completion of a school year.”

Russ chuckled to himself and appeared lost in a memory.  “I can imagine it,” he said.  “Using a paralytic to keep them still while he fucked the whores.  That way they wouldn’t be damaged.  That way they would still look like the clean, pure good girls they pretended to be.”

“Why your mom, Russ?  Why your sisters?  Why Oska’s sister and girlfriend?  What did these women do to you?  Who were the others?”

“I never touched my mother or sisters.”

“You used those women as a proxy.  You raped a woman you were pretending was your mother.  Why?”

“Have you thought about asking her that?”

“She’s dead.”

“My sisters aren’t.  Did you talk to them?”

“One.”

“And let me guess.  ‘We had a normal childhood.  Russ was a little strange and dad yelled a lot, but nothing happened to make Russ the monster he is.’  Is that what she said?”

More or less, but Benson didn’t confirm that for Russ.  The psycho rolled his eyes.

“Quite frankly you should investigate both my sisters to see if they are going around killing anyone.  I bet you couldn’t even find Ruth, could you?  She’s good.”

Benson’s stomach churned and he squeezed his clammy hands together.  He didn’t even want to entertain the idea of Russ’ implication.

“We’re talking about Lubbock, Russ.  How did you pick your victims?”

“I rather imagine those girls had reputations around town, if you know what I mean.  Seems like they put themselves in the path of danger.  I didn’t know much about townies though; I mostly stayed on campus.”

Benson pulled his chair forward, the metal chair scraping loudly over the concrete floor.  He leaned on the table and Russ immediately mirrored him.  They were still two feet apart, but it was still way too close.

“Russ.  Are you trying to say that you didn’t commit these murders?”

“I’m saying I’m not about to confess to any more if I had.”

“Then why direct me to those kills at all?”

“Because you're curious.  You want to know more about me.  You’re enraptured with whatever I say.”  He reached a hand out but was pulled up short by the cuffs.  “Are you as turned on as I am?”

Benson pulled back and his chair clattered loudly as he stood up.  Russ just laughed and waved a placating hand at him.

“Calm down,” the psychopath giggled.

“No.  We’re done.  See you at trial.”

“Wait, wait!  I have held up my end of the bargain!”

“In what way?!” Benson shouted, losing his cool.

“You know—or at least think you know—who the Lubbock Lady Killer is.  You’re a good detective; you shouldn’t need a confession to make your case for you.  I can even give you a tidbit that will help, though it’s just a guess because I know nothing about it.”

“What,” Benson snapped.

“Well, college is a time when people experiment, right?”

Benson gave a tight shake of his head and a short “so what” shrug.

“All I’m saying is that the Lady Killer may not have just been killing ladies.”

Benson’s eyes rolled up into his head as he closed his eyelids and sighed in heavy exasperation.  When he opened his eyes again, Russ was biting his bottom lip, his arms moving slightly, his hands out of view under the table—probably in his lap.  Benson turned away.

“Fine, whatever.  Thanks for the tip.  I’m not coming back.”

“You promised!”

Benson spun back and angrily slammed his hands on the table.  “I don’t have to keep my promises to you, Russ!  You’re a goddamn psycho and the law says I can lie to you all I want to get you to confess to shit.  But you’re not confessing.  And you’re not helping me find all the other psychos out there who follow you around.  You’re not helping me to save anyone.  Solving cold cases, while noble, is not a good enough reason to continue putting up with you.  You make me sick, Russ.  You make my skin crawl.  I don’t come here because I’m secretly fascinated with you.  I certainly don’t come here to supply you with more masturbatory fodder.”

Russ smiled slyly at that.

“I came solely because I thought I could help people.  And since I can’t…I’m done.”

Benson straightened and walked to the door, nodding at the guard to indicate the visit was over and he could take Russ back to his cell.

“What about the Green Falls Killer?  He’s still active, right?”

Benson knew better, he really did, but he stopped again and turned back.  He put up a hand to stop the guard from unchaining Russ.

“What about him?”

“He’s one of mine.”

Benson went very still.  He stared at Russ.  He looked back at him with intense, dark eyes.

“I could give you him.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s someone who can be arrested and prosecuted.  Someone who can take the blame.  Who’s not me.”

“You don’t think he’d turn on you?”

Russ smiled cruelly.  “No.”

Benson shivered involuntarily and did his best to mask his response to Russ’ crazy.  He could actually feel it landing on his skin like someone was flicking paint at him.

“Alright, Russ.  I’ll do some research on the Green Falls Killer, and then next Friday we’ll have a talk about it.  And during the week, you better think long and hard about what will happen if you pull anymore bullshit.”

Russ giggled again.  “Oh, Benson, when I think about you it’s always long and hard.”

He laughed loudly and Benson rolled his eyes.  He couldn’t even be angry about that one; he had walked into it.  He looked at Russ for several long moments.

“You think I can’t see through your ‘everything is a joke’ façade?  Do you really think no one can tell you’re scared shitless?”

“Don’t confuse angry with scared, Benson.  I’m angry I’m here.  I don’t like being here.  I don’t want to stay here.”

“No prosecutor in the world will let you walk in exchange for another killer, no matter how heinous.”

“I know.”

Benson kept up their staring match for another moment, but then the guard began to unlock Russ’ cuffs.  Benson left immediately, not wanting to be in the room with Russ if he wasn’t chained to the floor.  He slammed the door on his way out because he felt like indulging his petulance.

His mind swirled with all his options concerning the Lubbock cold case and the currently open Green Falls case.  And the Angel Slayer case.  How much could be fucked up if he moved too soon on any of them?  What if Russ was somehow able to warn his disciple that he was about to roll on him?  What if it was a wild goose chase?  What if Russ really had just been influenced by the Lubbock Lady Killer?  That seemed really un-fucking-likely.  And should he call the Lubbock PD and ask them about murdered or missing men during the same time frame as the Lady Killer murders, or would that make them suspicious and start asking questions and lead them to Russ and delay his trial start date?

Benson waited at the barred gate for the guards to notice him and buzz him through.  He shut his mind against the roiling waves of confusion and hope and revulsion Russ instilled in him.  Could he catch another killer?  The Green Falls Killer was prolific, and brutal.  If he could help get him off the streets, putting up with Russ would be worth it.  Maybe.

 

**Saturday, July 19, 2014**

 

Oska became aware that something was wrong.  He couldn’t move his arms or his legs.  He tried again and looked down his body.  He was tied to something by wrist and ankle.  A shadow moved around the room.  He couldn’t see him, and he looked more like fog than a person, but Oska knew it was Russ.  Oska pulled harder on his bonds.  The hard surface he was on turned into an uncomfortable motel room bed.  The picture on the wall over the dresser—the tools were all there.  He couldn’t see them, but he could see them.

Shadow Russ moved closer and Oska pulled against his bonds.  His heart was hammering in chest so hard he could hear it thumping against his ribcage.  Shadow Russ sat next to him—hovered.  Shadow Russ touched him.  Oska couldn’t scream, but it felt like he was.  He pulled against the restraints again.  Russ kept touching him and cooing at him like he was a frightened animal.  He was calling him by name.  He was calling him Benson.

Then Oska was watching Shadow Russ touch him on the bed.  But it wasn’t him.  It was Benson.  Benson was tied up, frightened, crying and Shadow Russ kept touching him and whispering to him.  Oska couldn’t move to stop him.  He could hear himself screaming in his head to move, to help, to stop the monster, but he remained motionless.  Shadow Russ covered Benson.

Oska started awake when he partially sat up.  In the darkness he was disoriented and confused and scared.  His heart was pounding as hard as it had been in the dream.  Dream.  Oska latched onto that word.  It had to be a dream.  A shuffling sound to his right made him turn his head.

Del turned over in bed, but remained asleep.  Oska exhaled, remembering where he was and now almost completely certain it had been a dream.  He turned to his nightstand to grab his cell phone, intending to call Benson, but he stopped.  If he called him up in the middle of the night, even if he didn’t tell him about the dream, he’d know something was wrong.  Oska hit the button on his watch that lit up the face.  It was 4:30.  Two hours.  He could call Benson in two hours and it would seem normal.  Or no...It was Saturday, which meant he shouldn’t call until closer to eight.

Oska flopped back against his pillow and pushed his damp hair off his forehead.  It was okay.  Benson was okay.  Russ was in jail.  He’d never touched Benson.  Oska put his hand over his face and felt a strong urge to cry.  He fought against it and tried counting his breathing.  Two counts in through the nose, three counts out through the mouth.  After a few minutes he felt calm.

Then he picked up his phone off the nightstand and tiptoed out of the room.  He walked down the hallway and slipped into the bathroom.  It was quiet except for the steady drip of a leaky sink.  He listened for several moments, and then convinced he was alone, sat on a bench in one of the shower stalls.  He tapped Benson’s picture and put the phone to his ear.  He wished he’d brought his headphones.  It rang almost four full times before a groggy voice said, “Oz?”

“Hi, Benson.”

There was shuffling and grunting, and then a sleepy, “Hey.”

“Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s okay.  Is something wrong?”  He sounded more awake.

“No, nothing’s wrong.  I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Ah.  Will listening to me snore suffice?”

Oska chuckled.  “It’s okay.  I’m good now.  Go back to sleep.”

“Wait, wait.  I’m awake now.  How are classes?  Any more lectures recounting the worst experiences of your life?”

“Nothing like that.  But, we were treated to something just as stimulating and exciting.”

“What’s that?” Benson asked, sounding utterly confused.

“We learned how to give briefings.”

Oska smiled as Benson’s laughter came over the line.  He leaned against the stall wall and put one foot on the bench, hugging his leg to his chest.

“That is exciting stuff,” Benson said.  “Very important stuff.”

“Hm.  How is the case going?”

“Okay.  It looks like our case is actually not what we thought it was.  It’s a good thing the CEO strong-armed his way into having Jordan work there because now he really is undercover since we’re investigating something else.”

“How is our intrepid undercover agent doing?”

“He’s doing okay.  The job he was ‘hired’ for actually allows him to question people about their work.  So, it’s not too much of a stretch from regular interviewing.  The real challenge will be him trying to investigate the people who know he’s FBI without letting on that he’s investigating them.”

“I think he can do it.”

“So do I.  He’s also found his rebound.”

“His rebound?”

“To get over Ann.  Apparently there’s a cute girl who—”

“Why won’t he just call her?” Oska asked exasperatedly.

“Why doesn’t  _she_  just call him?” Benson replied a tad snippily.

Oska rolled his eyes.  Quite frankly he didn’t know whether Benson had formed a greater bond with him or Jordan while working in Elton.  But it was a credit to his character that he was quick to defend his friends.

“You’re right.  She was the one who could have handled it better.”

“Or handled it all.  She just ditched him.  She doesn’t deserve a second chance in my opinion.”

“I ditched you,” Oska reminded him gently.  “You have me a second chance.”

“That’s different and you know it.  There were extenuating circumstances.”

“You don’t know what her situation is like.”

Benson grumbled but didn’t say anything discernible.  Oska listened to him breathe for a few moments.

“Oz?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.  I’m just…homesick.”

“For…for what?”

“You, of course.  You’re my home.”

There was shuffling on the other end and Oska imagined Benson rolling over to hide his blushing face in the sheets.  Or pulling the phone away so that Oska couldn’t  _hear_  his eyes rolling.

“Just five more weeks, sweetheart.  It’s nothing.  Be good and work hard and you’ll be done and back here before you know it.”

Oska smiled, savoring the promise.  “You know, sweetheart is growing on me.”

“Yeah?  We’ll put it on the possibility list.  But I’ll try something new next week.”

Oska rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight his smile.

“Hey…you’re speaking in a normal voice.  Are you alone?”

“I’m in the bathroom.”

“So…you’re alone.”

“Yes…?”

“So am I.  And guess what?”

Oska made a face, afraid to ask.  “What?”

“I’m touching myself.”

Oska laughed.  “You perv.  Here I am trying to have a nice conversation and you’re jacking off like some creep in the back of the movie theater.”

“You like it,” Benson said softly, the hint of a moan in his voice.

Holy shit.  He was actually touching himself.

“You seriously think I’m going to have phone sex with you in a dormitory bathroom?”

“Aw, come on.”

“You just want me for sex, don’t you?” he asked with put upon offense.

“I want you for everything, Oz.”

Oska grinned and dropped his chin to his chest.  His boyfriend—heck, fiancé—was so cheesy.  He did his best to mask the amusement and the little bit of arousal in his voice.

“A sappy answer won’t work on me.”

“It won’t?” he asked with an arrogant tone, the effect of which was ruined by the hitch in Benson’s breath and the soft noise of pleasure that escaped his lips.

“Shut up.  Let me hear you moan.”

 

Oska watched curiously as Del added alfalfa sprouts to the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he’d made at the self-serve bar.  His roommate looked at his perplexed expression and shrugged.

“What?  They’re good for you and this is the only way I can stomach them.”

“I hear they cause impotence,” Oska said blithely and carried his tray with tough Salisbury steak, mushy broccoli, and hard as a brick dinner roll into the seating area of the cafeteria.

Del followed him and they sat with their classmates.  They didn’t have to sit together as a class on weekends, but most were content to sit with their classmates in small groups if they happened to be eating at the same time.  Del and Oska took the last two seats at the end of the table and said hello to the four to six people they could reasonably have a conversation with at the long table.

Oska was a little tired from his impromptu phone sex-a-thon in the bathroom that morning, so he wasn’t paying close attention to the topic of conversation at hand until a few words started to catch his attention.  He looked up sharply when he heard the word slut.

“I know, man,” one of the guys replied to the other’s comment.  “We represent the FBI now.  She ought to know better than to shake her ass at any dick that walks by.”

“Better than Hausfield.  She acts all prudish when guys look at her, but then she tells stories about how she slept her way through all the guys in her freshman dorm.”

“Seriously.  Someone ought to teach them how to behave like ladies.”

“Yeah, isn’t that like a commandment?  Thou shalt not be a whorish tease?”

“Blum in particular is gonna get it one day.  And she’ll have no one but herself to blame.”

Everyone at their end of the table started when Oska stood up and slammed his tray down on the table.  They stared at him with bewildered expressions.  Without a word he picked up his tray and walked away.

“What’s his problem?” he heard one of them mutter.

Oska kept his dinner roll, but left the rest of his meal on the tray as he put it on the discard cart.  He bit angrily into the roll as he left the cafeteria and aggressively tore off a piece to chomp on.  He was down the stairs before he heard someone calling his name.  He looked back and saw Del following him with his disgusting sandwich in one hand.

“Hey, Oska, wait up.”

Oska slowed down and let Del catch up to him.  He looked concerned.

“Hey, are you okay?”

“Del, if you were sitting at that table and can’t figure out what irritated me so much, I don’t think we’re going to make very good friends.”

“Wh-what?  Oh, oh!  Yeah, man, no.  Those guys are creeps.  I get it.  I also get why you didn’t say anything.  We have to work with those asshats for another five weeks and we don’t need any infighting or drama.  But…you look…really upset.  Like, more than just mad that those guys are misogynistic assholes upset.”

They pushed through the glass doors that led out to a courtyard.  The sun was still shining brightly even though it was almost seven and the muggy heat clung to their skin, making them sweat immediately.  Oska kept his eyes on the brick pathway as they walked slowly to the next building.  He didn’t really want to get into his personal issues with Del.  He liked him and thought he could make a good friend one day, but thirteen weeks of living together just wasn’t enough to make him want to share his deepest darkest secrets with him.

“It’s nothing,” Oska finally mumbled.

“Okay,” Del said.  “If that’s what you want.  But, I don’t mind if you want to talk.  I’m not one of those guys who’s afraid to be open with another guy.  Um...not,  _open_.  Well, I’m not necessarily opposed to that either, but…shit.  What I mean—”

“Del,” Oska said, unable to stop the small smile that formed at the man’s rambling.  “I got it.  It’s not a big deal.  I just…have personal experience with—”  Oska cleared his throat.  “You know I used to be a cop, right?  Okay, so I’ve just seen a lot of…victim blaming.  Like, people saying that they deserved it because they were committing crimes and they needed divine punishment…but it’s not divine punishment.  It’s just a k—attacker trying to justify his own sick perversions.”

Del nodded.  “Yeah, I get it.”

Oska scoffed and looked away.  Del didn’t get it.  He couldn’t because he wouldn’t explain it to him.  So, he really shouldn’t take it out on the kid.

“I know I’m green,” Del said, “and I come from a pretty Stepford neighborhood in Texas, but I know plenty about victim blaming and slut shaming.  High school football is so big in Texas that those players can get away with almost anything.  They feel so…entitled, you know?  That’s the worst.  When people do wrong and think they’re doing right.”

“No…” Oska said tiredly.  “The worst is when people do wrong and enjoy it.”

Del’s brow creased in sympathetic agreement.  “Yeah…I guess those people are out there.  But isn’t that why we’re becoming agents?  So we can stop them?”

Oska vaguely nodded his head.  “Yeah.  I guess.”

“Oska,” Del put a hand on Oska’s arm and made him stop walking.  “Why are you becoming an agent?”

“I…I applied a while ago, and sequestration essentially put my application on hold indefinitely.  When I got the notice that I was selected for Phase Three…things had changed in my life.  I had quit my job as a police officer and moved away from everything and everyone I ever knew.  I just…needed to start over.  Which is why I went crawling to Benson,” Oska said bitterly.  “God I hate myself for what I’m doing to him.  Clinging like some sort of parasite, doing whatever he asks me to just so he won’t leave me…”

Oska cut off and looked up at Del in horror.  What the fuck was he saying?  Del didn’t look disgusted by him, but he did seem perplexed.

“Oska, I have inadvertently listened in to enough of your calls with your boyfriend to know that what you two have is not just about all that kinky sex.”

Oska blushed and a small laugh escaped as he looked down.

“I mean it.  You two support each other.  I hear you walking him through his morning routine, I hear you talking him through taking care of your dog, I hear you being the rock he needs to deal with—”

Del cut off.  Oska looked up.

“Deal with what?”

“W-well.  I…I know you don’t want anyone to know, especially with the current case studies, but…I was sort of able to piece together the clues…”

“Ah,” Oska said, and nodded his head.

Del lowered his voice to the point of almost being inaudible.  “You were the Angel Slayer’s last victim.”

Oska didn’t respond right away, his eyes back on the ground, but eventually he gave a slight nod of his head.

“Oska, I can’t—most people...the fact that you’re even standing means you’re one of the strongest people on the planet.  And because you have someone that loves you so completely and so  _explicitly_ ,” he emphasized in a teasing voice.  Oska curled his lips in to fight a smile.  “I envy what you have with Benson, I really do.  There’s nothing selfish about it.”

“Thank you, Del,” Oska said, his voice barely a whisper.  “I…thank you.  I am really lucky to have Benson.”

“Hmm,” Del hummed.  “If you ask me, Benson’s the lucky one.”

Oska looked up and Del didn’t give him a cheeky smile or a teasing wink.  He just let his eyes roam over Oska’s face for a moment, gave him a soft smile, and then turned to start walking again.

“Phew, it’s so muggy,” Del commented a little too casually.  “Let’s go find some a/c.”

Oska followed him.   _Oh, dear._


	3. Week 3

**Monday, July 21, 2014**

“Well, I heard he’s only here because Carpinelli is banging him.”

Jordan raised his head, looking away from his phone.  He was sitting in a bathroom stall, hiding from Brock and Dylan who were still dead set on proving that the other had nefarious plans.  Two people walked across the bathroom floor and the conversation continued as they used the urinals.

“Well, that would explain it.  He doesn’t know anything about trading or how investing works.”

“Yeah, fact checking my ass.”

“But if he’s sleeping with the boss, why he is monopolizing Arella’s time?  She’s eaten lunch with him, like, at least three times.”

“He’s a dick, I guess.”

“You think there’s any truth to these supposedly bad securities?”

The urinals flushed and the two men moved to the sinks.

“No.  It’s just an excuse for Carpinelli and Klein to have something to fight over in the office to amuse them.”

“Ha!  You think he’s doing them both?”

“Wouldn’t put it past him.”

Loud hand dryers drowned out any other conversation, and then the bathroom door closed with a soft click.  Jordan sat stock still, radiating heat like a furnace.  He was actually more upset about the fact that his attempt at studying trades and bonds and Wall Street and the stock market and all that bullshit hadn’t paid off one bit.  Although being a party favor for the bosses to pass around was a tad insulting as well.  He wondered if he should bring this up with Chris and John.  Perhaps they could coach him on how to sound more knowledgeable.  He was supposed to have given them a report on his findings first thing that morning, but it had been canceled due to a scheduling conflict with John.  Jordan was starting to suspect that Chris and John hadn’t been avoiding their interview with the FBI; they just really were that busy.

He decided it was about time for him to stop hiding, so he exited the stall and washed his hands.  He considered what he would say when he did have his meeting with the president and CEO.  He couldn’t reveal the information about the embezzlement, but he didn’t have anything to offer up on the securities fraud unless he revealed the national scheme involved.  He wasn’t sure he wanted to get them worked up over that yet, so he supposed he could just tell the truth.  He hadn’t found any evidence of fraud yet, but he was still doing his interviews.

Jordan checked his watch and decided to head down to the IT department early to start the interviews with them.  Anything to keep him out of his office where prickly assistants might go looking for him.

The IT office was on the floor above the main lobby, and was quite large and spacious for only three employees.  Each employee had their own terminal with at least two computers and three monitors.  Two of the stations were empty, but the third was occupied by Flora Vasquez, the youngest of the IT specialists employed by Klein & Klein.  She had on headphones and appeared to be playing a first person shooter game on one computer while the other showed a scrolling string of numbers on one monitor and a running program with the message “processing” on the other.  The status bar on the program was about halfway filled.

Jordan cleared his throat, but the woman didn’t turn around.  He called out her name twice, but she seemed immersed in her game.  Finally he reached out and touched her shoulder.  She shrieked and turned around to defend herself which startled Jordan so badly he yelped and jumped back.  The girl clutched the back of her chair as she breathed hard for a moment, and then she pulled the ear buds out of her ears.

“Dude?  What the fuck?”

“Sorry.  Uh, we, uh, have a meeting.  I tried to get your attention, but you didn’t hear me.”

The woman said something in Spanish with a hand to her chest.  Then she turned the game off and indicated the other rolling chair in her space.  Jordan pulled it closer and then took a seat.  He held out his hand.

“I’m Jordan S-Bell.”

“Flora,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“I’ve been hired by John and Chris to review the process by which investments are made here to see where—if—there are any cracks in security or access.  I understand that you and your colleagues developed your own money transfer program, similar to PayPal, to handle the transfer and investment of funds.”

“Me and my colleagues?” Flora asked with mild derision, but it wasn’t directed at Jordan.  “Yeah, no.  Me.  I developed the program.  These other two idiots just help with unlocking people’s accounts and telling them to turn off and restart the printers.”

Jordan smiled.  “It’s really impressive that you designed the system on your own.”

Flora smiled.

“A system that controls vast sums of money and has no oversight from anyone but you.”

Flora’s smile disappeared.  “Whoa, hey.  It’s not like that.  I don’t have control over the information in the program.  That’s entered and manipulated by the brokers.  I just maintain the firewall and develop patches to keep out viruses and hackers.”

“But, you could access the information if you made your own account.”

“Everyone uses a pin number to access their specific clients or the transactions they create.  I could create a transaction, but I don’t know anyone’s account information.  Even if I hacked my own system and stole bank account numbers, the program still makes a summary of all transactions and emails them to the broker and the client of how much money went where and when.  These numbers can easily be verified by the clients’ banks and the number of securities or shares that are recorded as being bought.  And trust me, the broker and sometimes the client always check.”

“Can you show me how the program works?  How many steps are involved?”

“Uh…sure.”  Flora narrowed her eyes.  “If this whole thing is due to fraudulent securities, why does it matter how the money is transferred?”

“It’s not so much how the money is moving,” Jordan improvised, “as it is where it’s going.  For instance, a client thinks he’s investing in Stock A, but someone invests that money in Stock B instead.  I’m trying to figure out where in the process someone would be able to make that switch without it being detected.  Could your program do that?”

“Not really.  The report generated would show the investment made in Stock B.”

“What if the report was manipulated?”

“I suppose it could be, but like I said, the brokers and clients check at independent institutions that the numbers add up.  Whatever the clients think they’re investing in, they are investing in.”

“I see.”

So that meant the outgoing money was untouched.  Maybe the discrepancies were clerical errors.  That didn’t seem completely unlikely seeing as how most of the clerks at Klein & Klein spent more time on their smart phones than working.

“And after the money is invested, the returns then go directly to their bank accounts?”

“No.  The program works as a kind of electronic middle man.  It records how much is being invested, then it accesses the bank accounts, and then it invests the money and monitors the results.  After that point it depends on what the client wants to do next.  When they don’t lose their money, some want to keep their investments in the same stocks, and some want to pull their profits and the initial investment amount back.  The program then transfers the money back to their bank accounts.”

“So, every time a client makes money on an investment, it has to go through the program.”

Flora shrugged.  “Yeah.  The money comes in and out via the same path.  In fact, the brokers have to click a confirmation button on all outgoing and incoming transactions.  They can verify names, investments, even bank account numbers before they confirm the transfer of money in any direction.”

“This sounds like a well thought out program.”

“Thanks.”

She smiled and Jordan smiled back.

“But you should know that I’m seeing someone.”

Jordan blinked, surprised by the non-sequitur.  “What?”

“Someone said you and Carpinelli were looking for a third.  Ordinarily I might be interested, but my girlfriend would kill me if I had a threesome with two dudes.”

“Um.  I’m not—”  Jordan shook his head.  “John and I…No.  Just…no.”

“Oh, okay.  It’s not a big deal though, you know.  Nailing the boss?  It’s how I got my first job.  It’s the world we live in.”

“I hope it’s not,” Jordan said, incredulity dripping from his voice.

Flora shrugged.  “Okay.  You still want to see how the program works?”

“Y-yeah.”

It took about twenty minutes for Flora to show him the program.  It seemed pretty straightforward and it would be difficult for anyone to manipulate the data without someone seeing the discrepancies.  However, if someone was going to find a way to direct money to somewhere it shouldn’t go, the investment program still seemed like the most logical candidate.

Neither of the other two IT guys had shown up by the time the tutorial was over, so Jordan just thanked Flora and left as quickly as possible.  He still felt incredibly uncomfortable about the quasi-proposition, and he wanted to know who was spreading rumors that he was sleeping with John.

He went down to the lobby instead of up to his office because he wanted to talk to, apparently, the only sane person in the company.  Arella smiled brightly when she saw him.  Her makeup was all neutral and nude colors today, but with a shine and shimmer that highlighted and emphasized just as much as bright colors.  She wore a light blue dress and her curls were, unfortunately, pinned up in a bun.

“Hi, Arella.”

“Hey, Jordan.  You doing all right?  You looked a little piqued.”

“Yeah…”

He leaned on the high counter, but still had to bend over a bit to do it because of his height.  Arella put her arms on her desk and leaned toward him as well.

“What is it?”

“Do you…do you think that it’s become common practice for people to use sex to get jobs?  Or that like, transient orgies are the norm?”

Arella let out a snort of laughter.  “Uh…not that I’m aware of.  Not saying there’s anything wrong with people choosing the transient orgy lifestyle, but I don’t think it’s hit mainstream yet.”

“Hm.  Have you heard any rumors here?  About me.  And John.”

Arella just gave him a cute grin.

“Goddamnit.”

Arella laughed.  “It actually made me quite jealous.  I realized I needed to step up my game.”

“Believe me, you don’t,” Jordan said emphatically.

Arella’s smile faded.  “Oh.”

“No, I mean, you have no competition, so your current game is great.  Or.  I mean, you don’t need to come after me because I thought I was the one who needed to have game…I’m going to stop talking and you’re going to understand what I meant.”

Arella smiled again.  “You know, I think I do.  I don’t know how though because that was incredibly awkward.”

“Thank you,” Jordan said dryly.

“Mm-hm.  Anything I can do for you?”

“No…yeah.  Can you tell me how long Flora Vasquez has been working here?”

“Yep.”  Arella sat up and used the mouse to click through what must have been a fairly extensive set of folders.  “Uh, hmm.  She’s fairly new.  She’s only been here a little over a year.”

“Hunh.  That’s odd that no one has mentioned that the program they’re using to make transactions is basically brand new technology for them.”

“Well, if it’s a year old, technology changes so much nowadays that may seem like a lifetime ago.”

“I suppose.  Do you have access to her CV?  Specifically her work history.”

“I do…but I’m not supposed to share it.”

“Oh, right.  Sorry.”

“But, um…if you think it’s important, maybe we can meet somewhere that’s not work.  To discuss it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Or we could just meet somewhere that’s not work.  To just…hang out somewhere that’s not work.”

“Did you not want to go to the cafeteria for lunch today?  They’re serving bulgogi.”

Arella leaned on the desk again and just looked at him.  He looked back.

“Oh!  Oh.  Right.  Like, after work.  Or a weekend.  Like.  Completely not work related.”

Arella gave him a smile like she thought he was cute but she was rethinking her interest in someone so dimwitted.

“I’d like that.  Um.  Would you like to get dinner?  Tomorrow night?”

“I would, Jordan.  You can pick me up at eight.”

“Great.  I’ll see you then.  Well, actually I’ll probably see you again this afternoon.  And when I leave tonight.  And tomorrow morning when I come in.  You sure do work long hours.”

Arella nodded.  “You’re very lucky I find babbling endearing, Mr. Bell.”

The false name felt like a slap of water in the face.  What on earth was he thinking?  He couldn’t date someone involved with the company he was investigating.  He’d have to cancel, but to spare her feelings he’d do it later and tell her something had come up.  If necessary he could get Benson to play the part of a sick friend.  He gave her a stiff wave.

“See you at lunch.”

Then he walked to the internal elevators to head back to his office.  His personal cell phone buzzed in his pants pockets.  He pulled the device out and was so startled by the name that appeared on the screen that he refused the call just to get the phone to stop making noise.  He had a weird sense of guilt, like a kid that had gotten caught using his phone in class.  Or someone who had just made a date and then gotten a call from his girlfriend.

Of course, Ann wasn’t his girlfriend; she was an ex.  And she had made it clear that a clean break was the best thing for them both, so why was she calling him?  His thumb hovered over her contact information as he debated whether or not to call her back to see what she wanted.  If it was work related she would have called his Blackberry.  That meant she wanted to discuss a personal matter.  But what was left to talk about?  He wasn’t generally a petty person, but he was hurt enough that he didn’t want to talk to her even if she was calling to apologize.  He definitely didn’t want to talk to her if she wasn’t going to apologize for the way she had handled everything.  He put the phone back in his pocket.

The doors to the elevator opened and he stepped off.  Immediately he was almost backed into the closing doors by Brock and Dylan.  They had their arms crossed and one eyebrow cocked.  They didn’t look alike, and Brock was definitely taller, but they appeared eerily similar.  Jordan sighed.

“What is it?”

~~~

Benson stood his ground and waited for the tech guys to get the house lights on.  It was his turn to deliver the case review on the Angel Slayer killings to a bunch of fledgling NAT's, and he was going to verify that Oska was not in the room.  Of course, it wouldn’t make sense for Oska’s class to see the presentation twice, but he couldn’t risk having to detail Russ’ attack on Natalia in front of Oska.  He’d rather quit his job.

The lights flashed on and Benson strummed his hand on the podium as he scanned the room.  There were about forty students, all wearing khaki cargo pants and dark blue polo shirts.  It was hard to distinguish one from the other, especially the ones in the back, but he would know Oska from half a mile off in a snow storm.

“Good morning.  I’m Special Agent Benson Remick.  I was one of the lead investigators on the original Angel Slayer murders in the DC metro area.  I was called in to determine if similar killings in Elton, New Hampshire were a copycat or the same killer.  I’ll begin with the original killings in DC.”

Benson didn’t need notes—he remembered every goddamned detail about all of the Angel Slayer killings—but he read off of note cards anyway.  He deliberately made his presentation wooden and clinical, leaving out all the intuition and emotion that goes into working a case.  It was important to teach those things to upcoming agents, but he couldn’t do it with this case.  When he was finished, he could tell that he might have actually made the case boring if the glazed look in some the audience’s eyes were any indication.

“Currently, Russell Little is being held at a maximum security prison.  His trial is set to start on October 6th.”  Benson gathered up his note cards.  “Any questions?”

Several hands flew up in the air.  He barely refrained from making a face at them.  He looked out at the room and pointed at a young man in the middle of the room.

“Yes?”

“Um.  Well, we heard from other NAT’s who had an earlier session of this case study, that one of the agents, was like, involved?  With one of the victims?  Is that true?”

Benson put his hands in his pockets so no one would see him clench them into fists.  “I meant were there any questions relevant to the case?”

The hands went up again, but the same young man spoke up.

“It is relevant though, isn’t it?  Getting involved while on a case is unprofessional.  Right?  Stuff like that can jeopardize a case.”

“That’s true.”

“But you spoke very highly of all of the agents and police officers that worked the case.”

“Because they did excellent work.”

“But, fooling around with a victim is unethical, isn’t it?” a woman to his right asked.

“Ah, I see the information you received was a little inaccurate.  That’s another good lesson: vet your sources before you trust their intel.  An agent became involved with one of the local police officers.”

There was a noticeable group deflation.  Apparently everyone wanted gossip.

“But, it was a victim too?  Wasn’t it?”

Benson sighed.  “Doesn’t anyone have a question about the methodology or psychology or forensics of this case?”

Everyone was silent and looked down at their notebooks.  Benson rolled his eyes.

“The agent became involved with a police officer who was not working the Angel Slayer case.  At one point, Little targeted the police officer because he had an obsession with the agent.  Little took the agent’s involvement with someone personally because he felt he had a connection with the agent.  The police officer wasn’t already a targeted victim, nor was the officer likely to be one had the relationship not drawn Little’s attention.  Just like with the third victim,” Benson vainly attempted to steer the topic off of Oska and himself.  “Little killed his accomplice’s lover because he wanted to teach him a lesson.  Russell Little thinks everything everyone does is because of him in some way.  It’s classic Narcissistic Personality Disorder.  Have you all had any forensic psychology training yet?”

“But, if the Angel Slayer was obsessed with him, or her, why did the agent get involved with someone if they were just going to put that person’s life in danger?”

Benson frowned.  Well, that hadn’t worked.  “The agent was unaware of the killer’s obsession until after he had been arrested.”

“But didn’t you guys all work with the guy?” a voice said in the front row.  “Why couldn’t any of you tell who he was?”

Most of the others shifted uncomfortably at the rather impertinent question.

“Russell Little has been killing for over a decade.  He’s killed in multiple jurisdictions with multiple methods and has eluded capture by local and state police as well as federal agents.  He’s smart, resourceful, and a sociopath—which means he can fake the proper emotions needed for any social situation.”

“But—”

“Why are you so interested?” Benson cut off the next question.  “It was a personal relationship; it actually has very little to do with the case.”

“Except the fact that the Angel Slayer got careless by going after someone he hadn’t taken the time to stalk and plan for because he wanted to hurt the agent, and that’s really the only reason why he got caught.  If he hadn’t, he might still be on the loose.”

“I don’t think that’s the case.  We were already closing in on him, particularly his accomplice, before the officer was ever given an angel card.”

“Will it affect the trial?” a new voice asked.

“Will what affect the trial?”

“The personal relationship.  Will any evidence or testimony be thrown out?”

“Whether or not you think two adults in a working relationship having a consensual personal relationship is inappropriate does not change the fact that it is illegal to attack, kidnap, and sexually assault a person.  The victim is lucky to be alive, and his personal relationships have no bearing on his right to justice.”

“It was the living victim?” someone asked with too much excitement in her voice.

“Are he and the agent still together?”

“Is he willing to talk to us?”

“Did they break up?”

Benson could feel the heat in his face and he hoped it just looked like the lights were making him sweat.  He inhaled deeply as discreetly as he could as he waited for the questions to die down.

“That…is definitely not relevant.  Does anyone have any questions about the case?”

There was silence.

Then, “Was it you?”

 

Benson grumbled and wrapped his arm tighter around Oska’s thigh as he buried his face in his stomach.

“They’re all assholes.  It’s true what they say about the next generation.  Entitled brats obsessed with drama.”

“I’m pretty sure there are at least two other guys my age in my class alone,” Oska mused as he carded his fingers through Benson’s hair.

They were in Oska’s dorm room on his bed.  Oska sat propped against the wall and Benson’s legs were crammed up in the short bed because he wanted to put his head in Oska’s lap but the bed wasn’t wide enough to do it sideways.

“Whatever,” Benson grumbled.  “All the questions were from twenty somethings.  I forgot how much of a dillweed we all are when we’re in our twenties.”

Oska chuckled and gently ran his nails over Benson’s scalp soothing him and making him shiver with sensation.  He allowed himself to be lulled into a semi-conscious state, not caring that Oska would have to leave for class in ten minutes or so.  Those ten minutes were so far away.

“Hey, Benson…?”

“Yes, honey?”

“Geez.  Better than sugar I guess.  Do…do you think it’s possible that our relationship could affect the trial?  That his lawyer could twist it and use it against us?”

“Honestly I think our relationship only weakens his defense.  It proves that he’s not crazy or following orders from ‘something’ else.  He made a calculated decision to go after you based on his personal whims.”

“Hmm.”

Oska didn’t sound convinced, so Benson tightened his hold on his leg.  He wasn’t sure who he was trying to comfort.

“How are your talks going?  With him?” Oska asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Benson sighed.  “I’m pretty certain he’s the Lubbock Lady Killer.  Do you remember hearing about those cases back in the late 90’s?  You would have been in college.”

“Yeah, I remember those.  They put out warnings at every college campus in case there were copycats.  Didn’t you get those messages at your school?”

“I was still in high school, old man.”

“Bite me, Remick.”

Benson complied by turning his head and gnawing on his leg a bit.

“Knock it off.  You’re going to leave a spit stain on my pants.”

Benson stopped when Oska offered him a hand instead.  He kissed Oska’s knuckles and then turned his hand over and kissed his palm.  He put his head back down on Oska’s leg and held onto his hand as he unhappily continued.

 “Well, he raped and killed eight women, and possibly some men, while he was attending school at Texas Tech.  Apparently he was celebrating the beginning and ending of each semester.  The sick fuck.”

“But…he didn’t go to Texas Tech…he went to UNH.”

“What?!” Benson asked sitting up so quickly he startled Oska.

“Or…maybe that was Jake.  Do you know where Russ went to school?”

“Oskaaaaaaaa,” Benson groaned.  “He went to Texas Tech!”

“Oh, sorry.  I didn’t remember.”

“Geez.  Don’t do that to me.”

“Even if he did go to Texas Tech, he could just be fucking with you.”

“I know.”

“I mean, are you checking his facts, or just listening enraptured like a boy scout at the campfire?”

Benson sat back on the bed, putting distance between himself and Oska and Oska’s accusatory tone.

“What’s got you so pissy?”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Oska…”  Benson got to his feet so that he could walk around the room.  “Why are you being like this?  We can solve unsolved murders and bring some peace to families who never got an answer or an explanation.  We could potentially get all his allies and stop active murderers.  And we can do this with little to no effort and no danger.  It’s just a little uncomfortable.  That’s all.  And I’m willing to pay such a menial price for such great results.  There are eight families out there who could be told that their daughter’s killer is caught and behind bars.  There is any number of people out there whose lives can be saved by finding the disciples.  Doesn’t that seem worth a little discomfort to you?”

“No.”

Benson turned to look at him, shocked.  “You wouldn’t…”

“Yes, of course, I would.  I just don’t want you to.”

“Come on.  Don’t be unreasonable.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Fine.”  Oska shrugged.  “I am.  So what?  I don’t want you to do it.  It’s that simple.  You love me, right?  You’d do anything for me, right?”

“Seriously?” Benson asked with mild annoyance.  “You’re playing the ‘if you really loved me’ card?”

Oska looked down at the bed and picked at a nit on the blanket.  Benson rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

“Alright, I gotta head back if I’m going to avoid traffic.”

“You’re leaving?” Oska asked, his head snapping up and voice tight with worry.  “I thought you were going to stay until after the afternoon rush.”

“Yeah, but, I gotta take care of Charlie.  And I’ve got to get into the office early tomorrow.”

He picked up his wallet and keys from Oska’s desk.  Oska scrambled off the bed and approached Benson quickly.

“Benson—”

He cut off when Benson turned to him and took his face in his hands.  He could tell that Oska was scared that he’d gone too far and pushed him away for good.  So, he leaned in and pressed their lips together softly, kissing Oska’s full upper lip and getting his lips to part.  Then he sealed their mouths together in a lingering, deep kiss.  When he pulled back Oska looked calm, or at least distracted.  Benson still cupped his face and Oska opened his eyes.

“I’m still kinda pissed,” Benson murmured.  “We’ll talk more later.”  He placed another simple, gentle kiss on his lips.  “I love you, Oska.  And I would do anything for you.  I would.  I’ll stop the interviews.  But.  I want you to think about if you really want to do that to us.”  He went in for one more kiss (that one was for himself), and then he released Oska and walked to the door.

He opened it just as Del was opening it.

“Oh, hi.  Benson.  It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.”

“I just came to get Oska.  We’ve got another lecture on how to define ‘intelligence’ to go to.”

Oska laughed and Del grinned, shooting him a wink.  Apparently it was some sort of inside joke.  Benson frowned.  Del was too attractive to be shooting Oska winks and making him laugh.

“Drive safely, Benson,” Oska said as he sat on the bed to pull on his boots.

“Thanks.  Study…safely.”

Oska smiled.  “Firearms are tomorrow.”

“Whatever.”

Oska laughed and returned to tying his shoe.  Benson realized he was stalling.  He looked at Del, gave him another forced smile, and then left.

**Tuesday, July 22, 2014**

 

Jordan loosened the tie around his neck and pulled it off.  He tossed it onto the bed and looked at his appearance again in the mirror over his dresser.  He was in dark jeans with a light grey button down tucked into them.  The tie had just made him look too much like an Internet company founder.  He took off the jeans and put on black slacks.  Now he kind of looked like waiter.  He put the tie back on.  Now he looked like a caterer.  He put on a black sports coat.  Now he looked like he was going to his eighth grade dance.  He groaned and turned to look at the person sitting on his bed.  There was no one there.  Jordan scowled and marched out of his bedroom and into the living room.  Benson was channel surfing on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Dude.”

Benson looked up.  “Yeah?”

“You’re supposed to be helping me here.”

“Jordan.  You invited me over to your apartment not to watch a game or play a marathon game of Risk, but so that I can help you pick out your clothes for your date.  Men don’t do that.”

“Yeah, you know what kind of men say shit like that?  Men who think it’s gross to sleep with men.  So, shut-up and help me out here.”

Benson sighed and turned off the TV.  He stood up and examined Jordan.  “Well, first off, lose the jacket.  And the tie.”

Jordan complied and Benson looked him over.

“Untuck.”

Jordan pulled his shirt out of his pants.

“That’s good.  The slacks indicate it’s a more formal occasion than going out with a friend in jeans, but the untucked shirt means it’s not too formal.”

“Yeah.  That sounds about right.”

“You’re going to have to iron the bottom of that shirt now.”

Jordan made a face.  “Can’t I just wear a different shirt?”

“Are you kidding?  It took you twenty-five minutes to decide on a color scheme.  There is no time for changes.  You have to meet her in thirty minutes, right?”

“Oh, shit.  Yeah.”

Jordan hustled back into his bedroom and dug in the bottom of his closet for the iron his mother had had insisted on giving him.  He’d used the thing maybe twice in seven years.  He plugged it into the wall and then unbuttoned his shirt.  He didn’t have an ironing board, so he just spread it out on the bed.  When he straightened to get the iron, he saw Benson taking a picture of him with his phone.  Too late he put his hands up to cover his nipples.

“What are you doing?”

“Sending this to Oska.”

Jordan’s jaw dropped open and heat crept slowly up his face.  “What?  Why?  Do you two have this weird fantasy to seduce me into a threesome?  Because, I’m flattered, sure, but I just think it would make our relationship really weird.  Plus you and Oska are both so possessive, I feel like I’d be left out completely or possibly stabbed.”

Jordan stopped rambling and in took in Benson’s slightly confused but mostly unamused face.

“Oska doesn’t believe you have muscles because you’re too skinny.  But, thank you for making this weird for all of us.”

“I—it’s weird!  Don’t put this on me!”

“Why was your first thought a threesome?”

“Apparently, it’s very common now.”

“Yeah, but not with people who are like…your brother.  Gross, dude.”

“I know!  That’s why I tried to get out of it politely!”

“You contemplated,” Benson accused.

“I did not.”

“You did!”

“Okay, yeah, for like a second.  But with Oska.  Not you.”

“With who now?”

“See?  So possessive.”

Jordan grabbed the iron and began working on the tails of the shirt.  Benson’s phone pinged.

“Hunh.  Oska asked for a threesome.”

“What?!”

Jordan fumbled the iron and it crashed to the floor, causing him to dance away to avoid injury to his toes.  He looked up at Benson who was smirking and texting something back to Oska.

“You are such an asshole,” Jordan muttered and picked up the iron.

“And you amuse me.”

Jordan decided he was going to ignore Benson until he could kick him out, but that lasted about three seconds.

“Do you think this is a bad idea?” Jordan asked.  “Going out with someone that’s involved with a case?”

“Well, a little.  But, I certainly can’t throw stones.  Sometimes, you can’t listen to reason.”

“But it was different for you.  Oska technically wasn’t working on the case, and you weren’t undercover.  Arella doesn’t even know my real last name.”

“That does put a spin on things.  But, when you think about this date, is it really with the idea in mind that this could lead to something?”

“I don’t know.  Anything could always possibly lead to something.  Right?”

Benson put his phone up and remained silent as Jordan set the iron down and put on the warm shirt.  He started buttoning it and glanced at Benson between buttons.

“What?”

“Nothing.  I just thought Arella was a rebound.  But, do you really like her in a want to date her in a see where this goes sort of way?”

Jordan tried to think of an answer to that, but his mind was blank.  Well, not blank.  He sat down on the bed and put his hands between his knees.

“Ann called me yesterday.”

Benson raised his eyebrows.  “What did she say?”

“Nothing.  Or, I don’t know.  I didn’t answer.  And she didn’t leave a message.”

“Still mad?”

“Yeah.  I am.”

Benson nodded.  Then shrugged.  “I don’t know if I can really help you out here, buddy.  Either you go out with Arella and let her try to get you to forget your anger, or you get over your hurt and talk to Ann and tell her you’re still in—that you want to try again.”

“I don’t want to try again,” Jordan said grumpily.

“You don’t?”

“I don’t trust her anymore.  I don’t get how you did it.  I mean when I found out that Oska had actually dumped you after Elton and then you just let him move in with you on the first day he even bothers to contact you again…I couldn’t do that.”

“Different people, different circumstances.  But look, there’s a very cute girl who is expecting you in twenty minutes, and you can’t be a dick who stands her up or shows up late.  Just try to have fun tonight.  There’s no commitment in one date.  And it might help clarify a few things for you.”

“Like?”

“Like if you’re ready to move on or if you’re not going to get over Ann because you don’t want to.”

Jordan fidgeted for a few moments.

“Dude, come on!  Fifteen minutes and you still need shoes and to brush your teeth.”

“Oh, shit!”

Jordan leapt off his bed and made a mad dash for socks and shoes.  As he was hopping into his left shoe trying to brush his teeth at the same time, he saw the time on his alarm clock.  He put his foot down and pulled out the toothbrush.

“Dude.  I still have forty-five minutes.”

Benson patted him on the shoulder.  “Now you definitely won’t be late.  Have fun.”

 

Jordan shook his hands to try to dispel some of his jitters as he waited for Arella at the front door to her apartment building.  They’d spoken over the intercom and she said she would come down to him.  He wondered yet again if he'd dressed too formally, or too casually, or if he looked sloppy because the shirt was untucked.  He moved his hands to tuck in the shirt, but then the dark glass door opened and Arella emerged.

She wore a white sundress with a sunflower pattern and bright yellow high heels.  She was still over half a foot shorter than him.  Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail of loose curls that bounced playfully behind her.  She was wearing that cherry red lipstick again.  Jordan knew he was supposed to be thinking about something or figuring something out, but he couldn’t remember what.

“You look…”  He knew adorable and cute were not necessarily descriptors women wanted to hear from their dates, but she was cute and adorable.  And not in a little kid or kid sister kind of way.  “You look amazing,” Jordan said.

Arella smiled and looked down.  “Thank you.  So do you.  So dashing.”

Jordan laughed.  “Thanks.  I don’t believe that, but thank you.  So, the restaurant I made reservations at is about three blocks away.  We can get a cab, or—”

“I can walk.”  She held out her arm.

“I think I’m supposed to offer the arm.”

“Okay.”  She dropped her arm.  Jordan just stared at her blue eyes.  “Are you not going to?”

“What?  Oh, yeah.  Sorry.”

Jordan held out his arm and Arella linked hers with his and stepped close to his side.  The first block and a half was just this side of excruciatingly awkward as neither spoke, but then Arella mentioned how nice it was to have a break in the humidity.  They talked weather for the last block and a half, which was only slightly better.  Fortunately they were able to be seated right away when they got to the restaurant so they didn’t have to stand around waiting awkwardly.  Now they could sit across from each other awkwardly.  At least sitting there was water and bread to distract themselves with a bit.  They didn’t have this kind of tension when they ate lunch together.  Then again, lunch at work was still in the friend league.  This was the big leagues.

“So,” Jordan said, “um, we can do the whole ‘tell me about yourself’ thing.  Like, where you were born, your family, where you went to school.”

Something flickered over Arella’s features and Jordan got the impression she wasn’t a fan of that topic.  But, isn’t that what people talked about when getting to know each other on a date?

“Well,” Arella said, looking down and unrolling her utensils from her napkin.  “I was born here.  In the DC area.  And I have a brother.  We were raised by both of our parents.  I didn’t go to college.”

“Oh.  I thought you said you had moved to the area a few years ago.”

“Moved back.  I moved back to the area.  I left to, you know…get away from home.  But, I came back.”

“I see.  Didn’t think much of the world?” Jordan asked with a smile.

“Just missed home, I guess.  What about you?”

“Well, I—”  Jordan paused.  Damn it.  Why had he brought up this subject?  He had to give her his alias information.  “I was born in Pennsylvania and I went to school at Penn State.  I’m an only child.”

“Ah.”

They both took the time to butter a piece of bread, take a bite, and then chew it slowly.  The waiter saved them by arriving with their drinks, a beer for Jordan and wine for Arella.  The waiter took their order and after downing a few gulps of their respective drinks, they smiled awkwardly at each other.

“So, this is kind of weird,” Arella said.

“I know.  I’m sorry.  I think it’s me.”

“No, trust me.  It’s me.  I apologize.  How about we try to forget that we’re, you know, on a date, and then maybe we can relax.”

“Sounds good.”

“Okay.”  Arella leaned over and dug around in her large purse.  She pulled out a folder and set it on the table.  Jordan tilted his head, confused.

“What’s that?”

“It’s some information I have on Flora Vasquez.”  Jordan’s eyebrows shot up as Arella pulled a document out of the envelope.  “So, I told you before she’s only been at Klein & Klein for a little over a year.  Before that she worked for six other investment firms.”

“Six?”

“Yes,” Arella handed Jordan the document.  “All for around a year.  Some more, some less.  She’s only 29, which means she’s been bouncing around from one firm to the next since she graduated from MIT.”

“She graduated from MIT?”

“Yep.  Top of her class.  It’s kind of strange that she’s taking jobs as an IT girl at investment firms, and then never staying for long.  But, she doesn’t get fired.  So, it’s not like she can’t play well with others and has to take what she can get.  In fact, a lot of companies have given her really good recommendations, some even saying they wanted to give her a bad one so that she wouldn’t get hired and could stay with them.”

Jordan looked up from the detailed report.  “This is all in her personnel file?”

Arella stared blankly for a moment and then smiled.  “Yep.  Klein & Klein are very thorough.  You should see the file they have on you.”

“What do they have on me?”

“I’m just teasing.  This information was on her resume, and they have a copy of her letter of recommendation from her last job.  There’s nothing here every other employer wouldn’t have about their employees.”

“Right…”  Jordan looked at the document; it didn’t look like a resume per se, but then resume styles had really changed.

“What’s interesting is that the investment firms are all over the country.  Each one in a different state.  She moves around a lot.”

“Some people are restless, I guess.”  Jordan handed the document back.  “I appreciate you getting this information for me, but I’m just trying to figure out where there are weaknesses in the system.  I’m not investigating anybody.”

“Oh, right.  Of course not.  I guess I got a little carried away.”  She put the folder back in her purse.  “I guess the idea of playing detective just sounded fun.  Being a receptionist isn’t really the most stimulating job.”

“Oh, yeah, I…”

“Don’t go looking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you feel sorry for the girl with the menial job because she doesn’t have a college education.”

“I—”  Jordan felt his face heat up.  “I’m sorry!  I didn’t!  I wasn’t thinking that you—”

She laughed.  “It’s okay, Jordan.  I’m just teasing you.  You’re pretty easy to fluster.  It’s cute.”

Jordan shook his head.  “You’re a terrible person.”

“But you still like me, don’t you?”  Arella grinned and Jordan had to smile.

“Kind of.  Thinking of you as some kind of film noir detective is kind of hot.”

Arella laughed.  “Does that make you my ‘knew you were nothing but trouble’ when you walked in the door?”

“Maybe.  I do have the legs for it.”

Arella laughed and Jordan love the way her eyes lit up.

“I did kind of feel like a detective though,” she said, playing shyly with her napkin.  “Like, when I saw that she moved around so much but her direct deposit information showed that she had an account at the same bank for ten years, I thought I was so clever for spotting something.”

“I hate to nitpick at your deductive reasoning, detective, but a lot of people keep the same bank when they move.”

“Well, with national banks, sure.  But, this is like a local bank that literally only has the one location.  And she’s originally from New Mexico, and her first job was in California.  So, how would she have opened an account at that bank ten years ago, when she just moved to DC a little over a year ago?”

Jordan cocked his head.  “That is odd.”  His brow creased.  “Where she was born and her bank account information is in her personnel file?”

“I may have Googled her.”

Jordan smiled.  “Maybe you should become a PI instead of a receptionist.”

“It’s a thought.”

“So, what’s the name of the local bank?”

“Potomac First.”

Something about that sounded familiar, but Jordan couldn’t put his finger on it.  His train of thought was derailed when the waiter arrived with their food.

“Oh, this smells good,” Arella said.  “Good choice on the restaurant.  That is a definite point in your favor.”

“How many points do I need to get?” Jordan asked with a playfully suggestive quirk of an eyebrow.

Arella smiled and put her manicured finger to her lips to lick off a bit of sauce.

“More than you’ll be able to earn tonight, but less than you probably think.”

Jordan grinned.  “Okay, detective, we’ll play by your rules.”

“You’re a smart man, Jordan Bell.”

“Well, smart enough anyway.”

They both laughed, and for the rest of the evening the awkwardness was gone.  Jordan chose to ignore the fact that he was pretending to be somebody else because he decided that Benson was right and that he needed to just keep this casual.  He wouldn’t ask her on a date again because that wasn’t fair to her, but a little flirting in the office wouldn’t hurt anyone if he had to leave suddenly or was revealed to be undercover.  Or at least it wouldn’t hurt as bad as being in a quasi-relationship with someone.  Of course, she was already digging into a coworker’s past just to impress him, so maybe he really shouldn’t encourage her anymore at all.

After dinner and a shared dessert that was kind of torture for Jordan to watch Arella lick chocolate fudge off her spoon with those lips (and women’s cosmetics had really come a long way for her lips to still be so red after eating and never reapplying—and Benson would give him a disapproving frown if he knew that Jordan had noticed), by unspoken agreement they took a walk back to Arella’s apartment that was much longer than three blocks.  They talked the entire time, but Jordan would be hard pressed to remember exactly about what.  It had mostly been likes and dislikes involving movies and music and a few other more superficial topics.  Jordan didn’t mind though; they needed to keep everything on the surface.

When they reached Arella’s apartment building, Jordan stood in amusement as she dug through her huge purse to find her keys.

“I never carry bags this big,” she grumbled.  “It’s the only thing I had that would fit that stupid folder.”

Jordan laughed softly.  “Well, I do appreciate the effort, gumshoe.”

“Ah ha!”  She pulled her keys out triumphantly.  Then she tilted her head.  “Did you just refer to me as chewed gum?”

“What?  No.  Gumshoe.  It’s like a film noir-y term for a detective.”

“Oh.  Okay.  I’ve never heard of that before.”

“You haven’t?  Hm.  I guess it’s not used much anymore.”

“Well, now that I know you weren’t calling me used up gum, I can truthfully say that I had a lovely time tonight.”

Her ponytail swayed as she gave him a cheeky smile and Jordan just wanted to kiss her, but should he walk her upstairs to make sure she got in okay first?  Or should he really not do something that might suggest he wanted a second date?

“I think we will leave it here, though.  You still need a few more points to get the invite upstairs, but you may kiss me.”

“Oh may I?” Jordan asked with teasing offense.

“Yes,” she replied with poise and control.  “You may.”

Jordan felt something that felt like a tiny elephant trampling down his spine.  He stepped forward without another witty word or doubtful thought and placed his hands lightly on her waist.  He leaned over—quite far—and placed a light barely there kiss on those red lips.  They were soft, not sticky at all, and they curved up into a smile under his.

“Come on, ace, you can do better than that,” she whispered.

Jordan pressed his lips to hers more forcefully and then tilted his head the other way causing her lips to part slightly with the movement.  It was enough for him to kiss her deeper, their tongues brushing in fleeting, uncertain touches.  Jordan wrapped his arms completely around Arella’s waist and straightened, bringing her feet a good six inches off the ground.  She didn’t struggle against losing her footing and curled her arms around his neck.  They kissed, unaware of their surroundings, for long enough that the need for a proper breath of air was the only thing that made them slow down.

Jordan pulled away first, but gave Arella another peck on the lips.  She opened her eyes, and just gazed at him for a moment.  Then she loosened her hold on his neck and he carefully set her back on her feet.  He took a step back, but kept his hands on her waist.  Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed and he was pretty certain that his face must be completely red because all the blood had oddly gone to his head and not to parts south.  Not that he didn’t find her attractive, but he was definitely feeling more giddy than aroused.

“Thank you for a nice night, Jordan.  I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“Uh.  You’re welcome.  Or, I mean, thank you too.  For a nice night.  Goodnight.”

She leaned forward and stood on her tiptoes.  Jordan took the hint and leaned down to kiss her one more time.  Then Arella used her keys to open the front door and slipped inside with a shy smile and wave.  Jordan stared at her door as the slow close hinge held him in a trance.  When it settled in the door jamb, he turned with a goofy smile on his face and began walking in what he hoped was the direction of the metro.  He wasn’t really paying attention to what was going around him.  He definitely wasn’t paying attention to the voice asking him, _What the heck happened to casual?_

 

**Wednesday, July 23, 2014**

 

Benson nudged his mouse with his elbow to keep the computer from going into locked mode when the screen flashed.  He glanced at his list of instant messenger contacts; Oska was offline.  He pouted and returned to sorting through the Google search results on his unclassified computer.  The addition of a second monitor to his workstation, and thus giving him the ability to get rid of the switch, had definitely made work easier.  It also made it easier to goof off on the Internet while still pretending to work, but he was actually working at the moment so he didn’t feel bad about the forty minutes he’d spent perusing B&B’s in the Rockies.  He’d only stopped because he thought it might be a little too sappy to be looking up places to honeymoon with Oska.  Then he’d gotten mad at himself for still giving into the occasional doubts regarding his behavior that being with a man gave him.  It had his father written all over it, but sometimes it was just too hard to shake.

Currently he was searching through what records he’d been able to pull on John Carpinelli from the three or four databases that he still remembered his password for.  He had Ainsley busy working on the Klein & Klein data to see if he could find any more examples of the returns on investments not quite equaling the earnings.

What he had found so far on Carpinelli was that he had been the VP (one of many) at Goldman Sachs for many years and had left to begin work at Klein & Klein for the original Klein right before the banks went bust in 2008.  It was hard to say if that was a fortuitous move or not because even though the bankers and investment firms were vilified, they all got huge bonuses out of the deal.  There weren’t any reports red flagging any financial gains or inconsistencies on record, and he was up to date and accurate with his taxes.  Benson didn’t have any exact numbers, but it was safe to assume that the guy was rich enough that embezzling a few thousand dollars here and there wouldn’t make much of difference to him.  Then again, some people did it just to be richer even if they were already rich.

His desk phone hummed quietly at him and it took him a moment to realize that it was ringing.  It was a good thing they lit up.  He picked up the phone and answered, “This is Special Agent Remick.”

“Hey, Benson.  It’s me.”

“Hey, Jay.  How’s it going?  Calling from the bathroom stall again?”

“Shut up, man,” Jordan grumbled.  “You don’t know what they’re like.  It’s like I’m their therapist or something.  One came in this morning and actually started talking about his mother.”

Benson snorted.  “What did you say?”

“I told him that all parents love their children equally.”

“That’s nice.  Do you really believe that?”

“I said love equally, not like.  There’s a difference.”

Benson sniggered and then turned his chair so that Loretta’s narrowed eyes could only see his profile.

“Do you have time to talk?” Benson asked.

“Not a lot, I just wanted to tell you something I found out about one of the employees here, and maybe you can start on that lead from your end.”

“Oh, it’s about work?  I wanted to hear about Arella.”

“Well, you can in a way.  She’s the one who got me the lead.”

“How?”

“She looked through the person’s personnel files.”

“Dude.  You do know that if someone does something illegal and gives it to us we can use it only if they’re not directed by us to do it.”

“I didn’t direct her to do it.  She did it on her own.”

“I don’t know, you’re walking a fine line there.”

“I’m not going to ask her to do anything else.  But, since we have the information, we might as well look into it.  Most of it is open source knowledge anyway.”

“Alright, what is it?”

“You were right about looking unto Flora Vasquez.”

“How so?”

“She’s been with the company for a little over a year and she’s the one who designed—and is basically the only one who has control of—the program that is used to transfer money from investors’ bank accounts to the securities and stocks and then back again.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“It’s like their middleman equivalent of PayPal.”

“Ah, gotcha.  The person who has control of money routing does seem like a good place to start, but do you have any other reasons to suspect her?”

“She’s had six jobs in about eight years, moving from investment firm to investment firm.  Maybe she skims a little here and a little there and moves on before anyone starts to notice.”

“That’s a possibility.”

“Also, Arella found something else out, which now that I think about it probably isn’t something one could find in an open source search so I wonder if I should be worried…”

“A little late for that now,” Benson said dryly.

“Yeah…I’ve decided not to go out with her again.  Aside from the fact that it feels a little…weird, like she’s not consenting to be with me but with whoever this Jordan Bell person is, but her access to information is a little shady too.”

“Should we investigate her?”

Jordan was silent for a long moment, and Benson didn’t rush him.

“No, not yet,” he said finally.  “She did just start working there a week and a half ago.  I don’t see how she could be responsible for wrong transactions made six months ago.”

“Maybe when the guilty party found out Carpinelli was bringing in a QC guy they got nervous, and they got an accomplice to come in and misdirect you.”

“Shit.  That’s possible.  Carpinelli announced it a full week before I even started.”

“I think you’re right about keeping your distance from her then.  But…what did she get for you?”

“Oh, um,” Jordan cleared his throat.  Then he let out a soft sigh that he probably didn’t intend for Benson to hear.  Benson felt sorry that the first woman Jordan had been interested in after Ann was pretty much off limits now.  “So, what she found out is that Flora has a bank account with a local bank, but she never lived in this area until she got this job.  So, it seems odd that she would have made a trip across the country just to open a bank account at a branch she’d never be able to access anywhere else.”

“What bank?”

“It was…ah, crap.  What was it?  There was something about it that seemed familiar.  Like, it was mentioned during our initial interviews or something?”

“Local bank, local bank…” Benson mused.  “Oh, Potomac First?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Yeah, that’s the bank that at least five investors had listed as a primary bank.  It’s also the bank that had the matching account number with the major chain bank.”

“What matching account number?”

“Ainsley found that two investors had the same bank account numbers but at different banks.”

“That seems…unlikely.”

“Yes, it does.  I’ve got Ainsley checking for any more of those mismatching return amounts.  We’ve got about three years’ worth of data, so we’ll see if any of them predate her starting at the company.  Can you get us an exact start date for her?”

“Yeah, no problem.  Alright, I’ve gotta run.  I’ve got to interview the other IT guys.”

“Okay.  Thanks for the info.”

“Sure.”

“And Jordan?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop hanging out in the bathroom.  It’s weird.”

“I’m not in the bathroom.”

“I can hear your voice reverberating off the walls.”

Jordan grumbled unintelligibly and then hung up the phone.  Benson smiled and put the receiver down.  He leaned back in his chair.

“Hey, Ainsley?”

“Yeah?” came Ainsley’s voice from over the thin divide.

“You got an ETA on the rest of those discrepancies?”

“Ehhh…Thursday afternoon?  Friday morning.  No later than COB Friday.  I hope.”

“Okay.  We’ve got dates on all of them, right?”

“Yep.”

“Okay.  Can you keep the dates associated with the flagged transactions?”

“Already done.”

“Thanks, Ainsley.  You’re the best.”

“Yes, I am.”

Benson smiled.  He looked back at the communicator window on his classified machine.  Oska was still offline.  He sighed and looked back at his unclassified computer.  He reopened a web browser and returned to researching B&B’s in the Rockies.  He didn’t even know if Oska liked mountains or snow; all he knew was that Oska had honeymooned in Palau for his first marriage, so they were not going anywhere tropical.

As he was narrowing down the list of potential B&B’s from one hundred to twenty-five (who knew there were so many fricking B&B’s in the country let alone one area), he received an email on the unclassified side.  Pulling up Outlook, he saw that he had received a reply from his contact in the Green Falls Police Department in Oregon.  He’d sent them a message on Monday regarding Russ’ potential involvement with the Green Falls Killer in their jurisdiction.

He’d also sent a message to Detective Tracy in Lubbock informing him of the possible connection to the Angel Slayer.  The man had agreed that the news shouldn’t be publicized until they had more concrete evidence, but that he would look into disappearances of young men in Lubbock during the same four years.  He hadn’t heard anything back from him yet, but Detective Darcy in Green Falls seemed to be very much on top of things.

 

_Thank you for reaching out, Agent Remick._

_After the news broke about the Angel Slayer last year, one of our evidence technicians came to us and said she thought that if the story about the disciples was true, that there were some signs involving the Green Falls Killer that indicated he might be one of the disciples.  The pre-mortem torturing and the kills themselves are very violent and personal, and the postmortem dissections and desecrations are very clinical and “playful.”  (Her word.)  We haven’t had a kill since the Angel Slayer was caught, so we haven’t been able to check under the victims’ tongues for a brand per your information.  However, we might be able to exhume the most recent victim who was buried in November.  It’s possible there might still be enough preserved tissue to do an examination._

_The evidence technician says she also suspects the killer could be a disciple because one of our police officers did suggest the theory that there might be two killers a couple of years ago.  Unfortunately he was killed in a freak accident at home and without him the theory never gained more traction.  We now might also have to consider the possibility that that officer’s death wasn’t an accident.  With someone as smart as Russell Little running the show, nothing should be ruled out as a coincidence._

_We’ve been reinvestigating and reviewing the old cases since December under the assumption that these kills could be related to the Angel Slayer, but we didn’t come up with anything concrete enough to warrant reaching out to the FBI.  Now that you’ve contacted us, I think some of our findings hold a little more weight._

_Does the FBI intend to send any agents out here to help in our investigation?  We would welcome any assistance you can offer.  I can also say that I personally would be honored to work with you, sir.  Your perseverance with the Angel Slayer is something to aspire to._

_Detective Kyle Darcy_

 

Benson strummed his fingers on top of the keyboard lightly, not sure how to respond.  He definitely had no authority to send agents, or himself, out to Oregon.  More than likely if the FBI did become involved then the Portland Field Office would handle it.  He decided to test Russ and emailed the detective back, asking for details about the Green Falls Killer that had been kept out of the papers.  Even if Russ had looked up the killer when he’d still been a cop, he wouldn’t have had access to that department’s internal records.

When he finished his email, he returned to B&B searching until he couldn’t stand looking at one more living room with Victorian style furniture and a multitude of cat figurines.  Maybe using the term B&B was the problem.  Maybe they just needed to find a lodge at a ski resort or something.  Regardless, he was done honeymoon planning and feeling restless.  Jordan was still conducting interviews, Ainsley was still data mining, and he…was still sitting on his ass.

Benson logged off his computers and threw on his suit jacket.  He stopped by Bob’s office and the man was glaring grumpily at his computer screen.

“What,” Bob grumped.

“We’ve gotten some intel on the case that Potomac First Bank may have some involvement.  We don’t have anything concrete enough to warrant using official investigative methods.”

“And?”  Bob still hadn’t looked away from his monitor.

“And…I was wondering if you would mind if I left a little early.  I was thinking about switching banks, going local, you know, to stop supporting the big corporations.  I was going to get some information from local branches.”

Bob looked at him over his glasses with a wry expression.  “Why don’t you pick up a pamphlet for me too?”

“Yes, sir.”

Benson took the elevator down to the garage and fortunately his Bu car wasn’t blocked in by someone else.  It took him about twenty minutes to maneuver through the mayhem that was the DC streets layout and park at a meter a couple of blocks from Potomac First.  He opted to pay the meter rather than put out his parking pass.

The building that housed the bank was pretty standard issue: off-white concrete with double glass doors and an ATM vestibule in between the outside and the inner lobby.  The lobby was a lot of wood paneling and faux-marble which made Benson’s eyes jump around uncomfortably from surface to surface.  There was a short counter on the front left side with two teller windows, and the rest of the large space had been used to create open offices with only three walls that were about eight feet high, well below the thirty foot ceilings.  There was an out of place ornate staircase at the back that led to the second level, which was open to the lobby.  The stairs appeared to continue up to more floors.

Benson paused just inside the doors, not sure where he should go.  Fortunately he was approached by a stunning black woman with hair shaved close to her head and full lips painted a provocative deep purple.  She gave him a friendly smile and stopped with her white high heels positioned in an elegant pose and her hands clasped together in front of her.

“Hello, sir.  Welcome to Potomac First.  What can I help you with today?”

“Uh, I was looking for information on opening an account with a local bank.”

Her smile grew.  “Then you’ve walked in the right doors.  My name is Grace Adams.  Will you follow me to my office?”

“Sure.”

Benson followed behind her, forcing his eyes to look anywhere but the shapely curve of her hips and backside in a well-tailored navy blue skirt.  Her office was in the second row of cubicles, and after he took a seat she offered him water or coffee, which he declined.  After introductions and general pleasantries were taken care of, Grace seamlessly launched into a practiced spiel about the different types of accounts they offered and the benefits of not using a big banking company.  Benson prodded her with question meant to glean what kind of personal information the bank required to open an account, but it was all pretty standard.  He kept her talking, waiting to see if he would be pitched for a special kind of account or offer, but got no hits.  If Potomac First or someone affiliated with it was doing something shady, it probably didn’t have to do with their standard fare business.

“Are there any other questions today I can answer for you, Mr. Remick?” Grace asked, ever pleasant.  “Would you like to open an account today?”

“I thank you for your very thorough answers; I am interested in Potomac First.  However, today I was just doing research, so I won’t open an account at this time.  I am interested to know though if Potomac First, being a smaller bank, has the capability of managing large investment accounts.”

“Oh, you’re interested in investing?  Yes, we do have managers to help with those kinds of accounts and can supply you with referrals for hedge fund managers if you like.  I can get you some information on that as well.  May I ask what level of investing you’d be interested in?”

Benson almost replied with a vague answer indicating he was new to investing and would just be dipping his toes into the stock market when he realized that that wouldn’t be the type of fish anyone would want to hook.

“I’m interested in a bank that has the experience and capacity to handle not only large quantities of investments and trades, but large sums of money as well.”

“How large?” Grace asked with a fixed smile.

“Seven figures.”

“You know, I think you need to speak with Mr. Podvodnik.  He handles all of our…premium accounts.  Would you wait here a moment?”

“Of course.”

Grace left the cubicle and he could just make out that she climbed the stairs to the second level.  Benson tapped his thumbs against his legs and made sounds with his mouth while he waited.  It was less than five minutes before Grace returned with a short man with grey hair, a few wrinkles, but very sharp eyes.  Benson stood up to greet him.

“Mr. Remick,” the man said with a firm handshake and a slight eastern European accent, “it’s a pleasure to have you here at Potomac First.  Would you join me in my office where we can conduct business in private?”

“I’d love to.”

“Thank you, Grace,” the man said as they left her cubicle.  Benson gave her a smile and she gave him the first genuine smile he’d seen out of her as her eyes swept over his body briefly.

Mr. Podvodnik led them toward the staircase saying, “You look quite strapping, but we do have an elevator if you need it.”

“The stairs are fine.”

They climbed the grand staircase and Mr. Podvodnik led them to an office on the left.  It wasn’t as large or lavish as Benson was expecting, but it looked like something a movie set designer would create for a “stuffy senior bank manager.”  The bookshelves and desk were dark wood and all the furniture was covered in dark leather with brass studs.  There was an antique-looking globe in one corner and a tall leafy plant in the other.  The man’s desk had a large ink blotter in the center, a phone set at an angle to the left, and a fancy, wooden pen holder on the right.  There was no computer as far as Benson could tell.

Mr. Podvodnik gestured to one of the chairs for Benson to take a seat in while he walked around his desk and sat in the imperious desk chair that was far too large for him.  He looked a little bit like a cartoon villain because the back of the chair nearly dwarfed him.

“Now,” Mr. Podvodnik said, “tell me about your interest in investing.”

Benson now saw the error in judgment in coming here on the fly unprepared, but he managed to recall a few things that he’d inadvertently learned while quizzing Jordan to prepare him to go undercover.  It appeared to be enough to convince the banker that he wasn’t talking completely out of his ass, and the man laid out several investment plans and strategies that could be of interest.  Unfortunately since he knew nothing about investing, had no actual money to invest, and everything seemed legitimate, he found himself drifting in and out of attention and struggling not let his eyes droop.  It was possible that Potomac First kept popping up because it was one of the few locally owned banks in the region and paranoid millionaires didn’t trust the big banks anymore.

“Well,” Benson said, after the fifth plan had been mapped out for him, “you’ve certainly given me a lot to consider.  I’m going to do a little more research, but I like the personal attention you give here very much.”

“Of course, of course.  If we don’t take care of our clients, we don’t have a business.  Can I set up a time for you to discuss account management and transfer with one of our coordinators?”

“Oh, uh…you know, I think I’ll have to check with my secretary.”

The man chuckled.  “I understand, I understand!  My secretary knows my schedule better than I.  And my wife too for that matter.  Are you married, Mr. Remick?”

“Engaged.”

“Well, congratulations.  This would be the perfect time then to begin building up that retirement nest egg.”

“Exactly.”

They left his office and walked over to the staircase.

“Oh, before you leave,” the little man said, “I meant to give you this.”  He pulled a business card out of his coat breast pocket and handed it to Benson.  “There’s a lot to consider when selecting a hedge fund manager, and while there are some merits to the well-known big name companies, I prefer to deal with smaller, local firms.  This company is one of my personal favorites as they provide personal attention, like we do here.  They also are quite progressive and keep up with the latest technological changes.  Sometimes I find older companies are a little stuck in their ways which can limit our clients’ success.”

“Well, thank you very much for your candor and time.  I will definitely look into,” Benson glanced down at the card in his hand, “Klein & Klein.”

“Excellent.  Have a wonderful day, Mr. Remick.”

“You too, Mr. Podvodnik.”

The man left Benson at the top of the stairs and returned to his office.  Benson looked down at the card in his hand.  He already knew that there was a link between Klein & Klein and Potomac First, so it wasn’t a surprise that the bank manager knew of the company.  But was it odd that he was actively sending business over there?  Maybe not.  There could be some kind of referral-incentive agreement set up between the two.  He’d ask Jordan if he could find out.

**Thursday, July 24, 2014**

 

 Jordan discreetly played spider solitaire on his laptop while Brock paced around his office and ranted about Dylan and Chris.  Apparently they were at some sort of retreat that was masquerading as a corporate executive seminar but was really just an excuse to drink and sit by a pool in The Bahamas.  It didn’t seem like Brock was as upset about the farce or excessive spending of money as he was that he and John hadn’t been able to go.

“This is probably one of the reasons why we have QC problems,” Brock said.  “Our ‘president’ is rarely here doing business.”

“Unh-hunh.”

“I mean, he just graduated from business school.  Don’t you think that means that he ought to be here getting experience while the person who already knows how to run a business gets to go on the retreats?”

“Well, it makes more sense to leave the experienced person in charge while the newbie gets some training.”

“It’s not training,” Brock said exasperatedly.  “I told you.  It’s just a ruse.  It’s just…what are you doing?”

Jordan hid his screen.  “Brock, I actually am busy doing my job.  Why aren’t you doing yours?”

“Oh, John is at the spa getting a stress relief therapy session.  He’ll be gone for another hour.”

Jordan perked up at that.  Chris and John were both gone.  Now might be a good time to do a little snooping on them.

“Well, then it sounds like you have time on your hands to glue all the drawers on Dylan’s desk shut.”

Brock’s frown turned right upside down.  “Do I need a special kind of glue?”

“Well, super glue will make it almost impossible to get the drawers open again, so you better stick with Elmer’s.  He’ll be able to pull the drawers open, but it’ll be an effort.”

“Right…Elmer’s…okay.  See you around.”

Brock ran out of the room and Jordan shook his head, knowing the kid was heading for the closest store that sold super glue.  More than likely the drawers in the desk didn’t fit together perfectly flush, so there was a good chance the glue bond would have enough air pockets in it to break after enough pulling.  Or maybe not, but it wouldn’t be his problem.  He locked his laptop and pocketed his cell phone.  He was on his way to the door when it burst open.  Jordan started back as Arella came in with a mighty annoyed expression on her face and slammed the door shut.  She put her hands on her hips.

“H-hi, A-Arella.”

“Oh, so now you’ll say hi to me?  What gives, Jordan?  We had a nice date, an amazing kiss, and then you barely even nodded to me when you came in yesterday and today, and you’ve skipped lunch.  Did I miss something?  Because I could have sworn that our date was kind of awesome.”

“I…”  _Lie, you moron_.  “It was awesome.”  _That is not a lie, you nitwit_.  “I just, I didn’t…I felt like maybe you would…I thought you thought I was using you and I didn’t—”

“Using me?  How?”

“To get information on employees.  I didn’t—”

“That’s ridiculous!  I did all of that on my own.  I guess a date wasn’t the best time to bring it up, but we were struggling for conversation in the beginning.  I was just trying to break the ice.”

“Oh.”

“And I thought it worked.  I loved dinner.  I loved talking to you.  And…I…that kiss…”  Arella trailed off and dropped her eyes.  Then she looked back up, anger flashing in her eyes and cheeks pink.  “Well, don’t make me say everything!”

“It was an amazing kiss,” Jordan blurted out.  “Like you said.  The kind where you just want more and more and…”  His eyes swept over her.  “More,” he said softly.

Arella crossed her arms and looked away as she shifted her weight.  They were silent for ten painful seconds.

“So, you weren’t trying to give me the brush off?” Arella asked.  “Because I wouldn’t put out?”

“What?!  No!”  Jordan stepped forward and took her shoulders in his hands.  She looked so small with his stupidly massive paws on her.  “No, not at all.  I just…I didn’t want to go too far too fast when I think we’re both a little hesitant to make this something big, you know?  I think we’re both looking for casual.  For friendship.”

“Friendship?” Arella asked, looking up at him.  “Is friendship all you want?”

_Fuck no_.  “Maybe it might be best to stay friends for a while longer before we try something else.”

Arella nodded.  They stared into each other’s eyes.  And then they lunged for each other like they were in a bad sitcom.  They stumbled back as their hands roved liberally and they kissed wildly.  Jordan wrapped an arm around her tiny waist and hoisted her up, clearing off part of his desk with the other.  He sat Arella on the desk and they continued to kiss—though there was an awful lot of teeth involved for it to be just a kiss—and started pulling on each other’s clothes.

There was a knock at the door and they leapt apart as the door opened.  One of the security guys stopped in mid-sentence as he took in Jordan’s and Arella’s disheveled appearance and failed attempts at masking their deep breathing.

“Uh, I need to get back to the desk,” Arella said, “but I’d appreciate it if you would finish filling out your personal contact information for your personnel record.”

“Right, yes, I will get right on that.”

They sent each other tight smiles and then Arella walked out of the office.  Jordan looked up at the security guy.  He was smirking.

“All I got was an email request.”

Jordan put up with the guy’s thinly veiled innuendo as he dropped off a list of potential interview times for their division—something which could have been emailed—and eventually got him to leave.  He checked his watch.  He wasn’t sure how long ago Brock had left, but he should still have some time to do some snooping in Chris’s office at least.

He took the elevator up to the top floor and stepped off into the quiet hallway.  In theory there was nothing up here but John’s and Chris’s offices, and a shared space where Dylan and Brock sat.  The access to the floor wasn’t restricted, but there was a chance the offices would be locked.  Jordan walked in the direction he had the first time he’d come to Klein & Klein.  He knew where Chris’s office was and he didn’t want to chance having to take the time the open random doors looking for John’s office.  He also had no idea when either John or Brock would be back, but if he could get into Chris’s office he shouldn’t be disturbed.

Jordan squinted his eyes as he tried the doorknob to Chris’s office, like that might protect him from anything bad that would happen if he were caught or the door was locked.  The door opened easily and silently.  Jordan slipped inside and shut the door behind him.  The lights were off, but the copious windows left him with more than enough light to see in the large room.  He walked over to the chairs and couches, but there were no bookshelves or tables with drawers near it.  The kitchenette was pretty standard and the bookshelves opposite the desk were full of notebooks on company policy, financial journals, and even a few textbooks.  He supposed one them could be hollowed out or labeled incorrectly to hide the contents, but he didn’t have to time to sort through the notebooks one by one at the moment.  He decided to tackle the desk.

Jordan sat down in the comfortable chair behind Chris’s desk and took a moment to appreciate the view out of the large windows directly in front of him.  It was a bit odd to have the desk set up so that the user’s back was to the door, but the view did explain it.  He shook himself from admiring the feng shui of the room and started opening desk drawers like he was in some kind of terrible caper movie.  Because of course the bad guy always left damning evidence against himself covered only by one sheet of paper in an unlocked drawer.

His rummaging produced only a couple of quarterly reports, some desk supplies, and a half-eaten can of unsalted almonds.  Health nut.  Jordan opened the last drawer.

“Holy…”

He used a pencil to prod at the items in the drawer.  Underneath the anal plug and the vibrator were at least a three month’s supply of condoms and lube.  Jordan grinned and shook his head, wondering if Chris was banging his secretary.  Or if it was just for personal stress relief.  Or if despite appearances there was a frisky lady in the office who was into “butt stuff.”  He’d never given much thought to anal sex for most of his life, but sharing a motel wall with Benson and Oska on the other side for a couple of months had made him reluctantly curious.  After all, who screamed that loudly if it wasn’t that good?  He shut the drawer and put the pencil back.  Then he looked at the computer.

It was off and probably wouldn’t take too long to boot up, but it was most definitely password protected.  The IT team required everyone in the company to have passwords nearly as complicated as he was required to have for the Bureau, so guessing Chris’s password was impossible.  Especially since he only had three tries.  He looked around the room and tried to imagine that if he was embezzling from his own company, where would he hide the evidence?

It actually didn’t make much sense for Chris to embezzle from his own company.  He didn’t have a salary, he simply kept whatever earnings were left over after expenses, employee salaries, and taxes.  If he was skimming off the top, he’d only be taking money he was going to get anyway.  He supposed it could be a way to lower the taxes he had to pay, but the dollar amounts were relatively negligible.  John was salaried and if he thought he was worth more than what Chris was willing to pay, he’s the one who had motive to embezzle from the firm.

There were a few other places he could look through in the office, but his suspicion of Chris wasn’t strong enough to risk getting caught.  He’d only been in the office a few minutes, but the less time the better.  He put his ear to the office door and listened.  After a minute of silence, he cracked open the door and peeked outside.  It was empty.  He stepped into the hallway, closed the door, and walked to the elevator.  He pushed the down button and began to sigh in relief until the doors opened and revealed John.  He drew in a sharp breath and took a step back.  John casually stepped off the elevator with one hand in his pocket and smiled at Jordan as the elevator doors slid shut.

“Jordan.  What brings you up here?”

Jordan remained collected and responded in what he thought was a normal tone.  “I was looking for Chris.”

“Chris and Dylan are away on business.”

“Ah.  That would explain why Dylan isn’t at his desk.”

“Brock didn’t tell you?” John asked, a little too innocently.

“He’s not there either.”  Jordan hoped that the kid wasn’t back from buying glue yet or his story would be shot to hell.

“What did you need Chris for?  Is it something I can help with?”

“Actually, yes,” Jordan said with a nod, thanking his brain for kicking into gear and reminding him of the email Benson had sent him.

“Then come with me to my office and we can discuss it.”

John put a hand on his back, urging him to follow him down the hall.  It would be good to go so he could learn where John’s office was located, but he didn’t want this conversation to last too long.  He resisted the nudge by keeping his feet planted, and John removed his hand.

“Actually, I have some of the last interviews scheduled not long from now.  My question shouldn’t be more than a yes or a no anyway.  Agent Remick has been conducting his own investigation as well—”

“I’m pleased to know the FBI is working so diligently on this case.”

Jordan nodded.  “Well, as I mentioned in my notes, we think there’s a possibility that this is all tied to a wider national scheme.  We don’t have enough concrete evidence on that yet for me to discuss it with you, but we have been investigating other angles.  Does Klein & Klein have a referral or incentive program set up with any banks?”

John’s brow creased.  “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“For instance, would a bank get a kickback if they referred one of their clients with a large bank account to your company?”

“Oh, no.  We have nothing like that.  Most of our business is by word of mouth through our clients.”

“To your knowledge have you ever had any—difficulties—when dealing with Potomac First bank?”

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know the answer to that.  I’m going to schedule a meeting with us and the company lawyer, Samantha Preston.  She would have records of any legally questionable dealings with other businesses.”

“Thank you.  That would be helpful.”

“I’m more than happy to avail myself to the FBI.  I have a conference call I need to prepare for, unless you have anything else?”

“No, we just needed to know if you have arrangements with other companies or banks that we should be aware of.”

“Not that I know of.”  He held his arms out.  “We’re an open book here.”

“Thank you, John.”

“Have a good day, Jordan.”

John turned and walked down the hallway.  Jordan delayed pushing the elevator button so that he would have time to watch where John was headed.  He rounded the corner to the right and disappeared from sight.  His office was not in the same position as Chris’s on the opposite side of the hall then.  Good to know.  The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.  Jordan stepped on and began writing an email in his head to Benson regarding his upcoming meeting with the lawyer.

**Friday, July 25, 2014**

 

 Benson waited outside the interview room while Russ was chained to the table and floor.  The green corrections officer, Garner, if he recalled correctly, had picked him up again.

“Are you scared to see him?” the young man asked.  “I mean, I’m not suggesting you’re a coward!  I mean that I’m scared of him.  I was just wondering if…”

“Yeah, I’m scared of him,” Benson said looking at the grey cement block wall instead of the kid.  “You’d have to be insane not to be.”

The conversation ended.  About a minute later the guard in the room thumped on the door.  The kid unlocked the door from the outside and let Benson in, and then locked him in the room with the psychopath.  Granted there was a guard in the room and on the other side of the other door were two more guards monitoring the situation, but it still made him anxious to be so close to Russ.

“Hello, Benson.”

“Hello, Russ,” Benson said blandly and sat down after pulling the chair out and away from the table.

Russ’ eyes tracked the movement, but he didn’t comment.  He folded his hands together in a mockery of politeness.

“So, Benson.  What do you think?  I'm growing the beard back.  Do you like it?  Or do you prefer me clean shaven?"

"I have no preference," Benson said, already feeling worn out from just five seconds with him.

Russ pursed his lips and seemed displeased with Benson's lackadaisical response.  He looked Benson over for a moment, but didn't comment on it.

"Have you been doing your homework?” Russ asked instead.

“You were never a suspect in Lubbock.  The bodies will be long since decomposed past examining them for brands or other identifying marks.  The DNA evidence is gone so we can’t compare it to yours.  It’s virtually impossible to prove you’re the Lubbock Lady Killer without your confession.”

Russ shrugged.  “Why do you think I sent you there first?  If I want to get out of the Angel Slayer killings with an insanity plea, I can’t confess to more killings.”

“You’re not getting out of the Angel Slayer killings,” Benson sighed wearily.

“Did you look up the Green Falls Killer?” Russ ignored him.

“I did.  The police think there’s a distinct possibility that the pattern fits.  There hasn’t been a kill since you were arrested, so they can’t check the tongues unless they exhume the latest one.  Did you kill a cop out there?”

“I’ve never killed a cop.  We’re America’s heroes.”

“Haven’t been watching much of the news lately, have you?”

Russ shrugged.  “There are bad apples in every barrel.”

Benson gave him a look.  “Don’t say that like you’re not one of them.”

“I never racially profiled anyone I pulled over for a traffic stop.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw all of three black people in Elton while I was there.”

“I never used excessive force on a minority.”

“No, you just gutted people because the voices in your head told you to.”

“I don’t hear voices.”

“Not helping your ‘I’m crazy’ defense.”

“Do you want to know how I got started?  Do you want to hear about my first kill?”

“No.”

Russ tilted his head, a small smile telling Benson that Russ knew he was full of shit.  He was curious.  He hated himself for it, but he was.

“I started with animals,” Russ said.  “You were right, Ben.”

“ _Son_ ,” Benson almost hissed.

“Benson.  If you had been able to have access to the sealed file about the juvenile offender who had dissected those animal bodies, well, you would have seen my name.  Case closed.  You are so clever.  I loved that you thought outside the box like that.  God, Benson, when you went down to the old records room to find my file, I wanted to follow you down there and watch you search for me.  I would have volunteered to take you, but I was worried I might not be able to control myself…”

Benson swallowed and shifted, seeing his rape in Russ’ eyes.

“Of course that little thief took you because he had nothing else to do.  He was so useless.  Like that stupid dog.  The town had five thousand people in it.  How do you justify a K-9 Unit?  Oh, right, when daddy is the police chief we can get whatever we want.”

“Russ,” Benson interrupted.  “You’re getting off topic.”

“Right.  Apologies.  I guess he had nice eyes, but was that really enough to look past all that stupid?  You two were down there forever.  How hard is it to find a file?” Russ scoffed.

“Not hard at all.  We found the empty drawer right away.”

“So what were you two doing?”

Benson raised an eyebrow and gave Russ a pointed look.  The psychopath’s face smoothed into blankness, only his eyes glittering coldly.

“When I hit you with the door…were you two…”

“Russ.  You killed squirrels and cats.  You were psycho when you were a teenager.  When did you transition to humans?”

Russ kept staring at him grimly, and for a moment Benson thought he was going to refuse to talk anymore and send him away.  Then he said, “I was four.”

“What?”

“I was four years old the first time I was responsible for taking a man’s life.  At that age, it was an accident, of course.  I was running in the yard, got tangled in the hose, the hose pulled on the leg of the ladder, and my uncle fell off.  It was kind of like a comedy, only instead of my uncle thrashing in the bushes and everyone laughing about it later, he had a broken neck and my mother just screamed and screamed.  Technically, that was my first kill.”

Benson clasped his wrist with one hand and compulsively curled the fingers of the other hand in and out of a fist.

“The first time I intentionally killed someone—I was seventeen.  It was so cliché,” Russ let out a small laugh, the mask he’d been holding in place slipping.  “It was a hooker.  I picked her up, we had sex, and then I strangled her.  Classic, am I right?  I did cut her open afterwards to see what was inside, but all in all it was pretty standard.”

Benson clenched his teeth.  No murder was “standard.”

“I don’t remember her name or where I dumped the body.  Hell, I barely remember what she looked like.  Inside and out.”

“So why are you confessing to this murder?” Benson asked, doing his best to keep his tone level.

“Am I?  I could just be talking to keep your attention.  It’s been well documented that you’ll only come if I give you information.”

Benson must have passed his threshold because nothing Russ said made him feel any sicker or angrier than he already was.  “You’re not lying.  I know you’re not.”

“So?  You’re law enforcement, Benson.  You know as well as I do: no body, no crime.”

“I may not be able to charge you with a specific murder, but this still establishes a pattern of murder and blows your insanity defense to pieces.”

“Does it?  I think all we’ve established is that I’ve been suffering from mental illness all my life stemming from a traumatic childhood event.”

“You’re not getting out of this, Russ!” Benson barked.

Russ smirked at his loss of composure.  “We’ll see.”

“Tell me about all your other kills and your disciples, Russ.  Tell me everything or I’m done.  I can’t do this anymore.  I can’t…”

Benson stopped, realizing how weak he sounded.

“I’ve given you two.”

“No names.  We can’t arrest anyone.  We can’t even charge you.  You’re useless.”

“I’m not useless,” Russ said, actually sounding offended.

“You could be making everything up.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why did you and your disciple put dirt in the victims’ intestines and then stuff them back inside the body?”

“Dirt?” Russ mused.  “Hmm.  That doesn’t make sense.  I wouldn’t put dirt in the intestines.  If I were planning to sink the bodies I’d use rocks.”

That was one of the pieces of information Det. Darcy had supplied him with that hadn’t been in the papers.

“If you were going to sink them.  You never sank any of them.”

“The killer probably thought they were too pretty.  Water rots and distorts flesh so quickly.”

Benson’s eyes jumped around over Russ’ face.  He was learning to read when he was batting his captors around like a cat with a mouse and when he was unhappy.  Russ was unhappy.

“You didn’t let him sink the bodies…but with you gone…he’s probably started sinking his kills.  He didn’t stop killing when you were arrested; he just changed tactics.”

Russ’ eyebrow ticked in annoyance.  “Are you a little more willing to accept that I might roll on one of my disciples now?”

Benson smiled.  It wasn’t a happy smile, but it suited his mood.  “Nick Tirro, Greg Hampton, and Pamela Paulson…you gave up your DC accomplices so quickly.  They weren’t apprentices or disciples…they were alibis.  You didn’t care about them.”

“I was still new to the idea of recruitment.  It was a trial run.  Not bad to convince three other people to kill for me in only six months.”

“But you care about the Green Falls Killer,” Benson skipped over acknowledging Russ’ self-congratulations.  “You care enough to feel betrayed.  Looks like you’re as petty as the rest of us.”

Russ shrugged.  “I’m only human I guess.”

Benson frowned at his turn of phrase.

“Agent Remick,” the guard reminded them he was in the room.

“Yes?”

“Time is up.  I have to take the prisoner back to holding.”

Benson looked at Russ and leaned on the table.  “Tell me his name.”

Russ glared at him.  “Now if I do that, you’ll have no reason to come back next week.”

“Damnit, just…”

Benson cut off as the guard stepped close to Russ.  An additional guard came in from the other room to provide back up.  Benson backed up to the door and knocked on it.  The rookie officer unlocked it and let him out.

“See you next week, Benson!” Russ called out happily.

**Saturday, July 26, 2014**

 

Oska looked up from his notes when he heard the knock on his dorm room door.  He glanced at Del’s bed, but he had gone to the gym.  Oska had opted to study, and pretend like his body didn’t take longer to recover from field exercises than it used to.  He stood up and walked the door, wondering who it could be while trying to ignore the hope that it was Benson.

Oska opened the door.

“What the fuck, Oska?!”

Oska stared dumbly at the woman in front of him.  It wasn’t possible…

“I found out about your sister only after that shitfuckhead psychopath Russ was caught!  You didn’t think to fucking call me?”

“Andrea?” Oska confusedly said his ex-wife’s name.  “How did you get in here?”

“Don’t change the goddamn subject, you insensitive asshole!  I loved Natalia too!”

“Seriously, do you have a badge?” he asked, looking around her shirt collar or waist for a visitor pass.

“And then I called Gus to find out what the fuck was going on.  Guess what he told me?”

“Did you sign in?”

“Stop deflecting!  I had to find out from Gus that you had been goddamn attacked!  Attacked!  That arrogant prickshit kidnapped you and tried to murder you!  And then!  You just fucking disappear!  Gus hadn’t heard from you in months!  Months, Oska!  What kind of asshole does that?!”

Oska was still shocked to see the petite specter from his past and couldn’t get his brain unstuck from how she had gotten on base let alone in the building.

“How did you get past the military ID check station?”

“Please, Oska, I once snuck into North Korea.  I can get into the FBI Academy.  You actually were hard to track down because you weren’t leasing a place, so you must be sub-letting or staying with someone.  But I’ve found you now, and I am pissed!”

“Yeah, I got that, and we can talk and you can yell at me all you like, but you have to let me take you downstairs and sign you in or we could both get in big trouble.”

Andrea’s face scrunched up with anger and tears.  “Asshole!”

Oska sighed.  “I know.  I know.  Come on.  Let’s go downstairs, get you a badge, and then we’ll come back here and talk.”

Andrea nodded.  Then she leapt forward and hugged him tightly.  Oska hugged her back, feeling pressure release in his chest that he hadn’t known had been there.

 

Fifteen minutes and an awkward conversation with the front desk monitor later, Andrea had a visitor badge and they were sitting cross-legged on Oska’s bed.  Oska kept his eyes focused down and tugged guiltily on the toe of his sock.  Andrea just stared at him, refusing to break the uncomfortable silence just yet.  When she did, she jumped right in with both feet.  Just like he remembered her.

“Why did Russ target Natalia?”

Oska shrugged.  “She was sweet and nice?  Sometimes liked to talk about crystals and hippie shit?  Turned him down in tenth grade?  I don’t know.”

Andrea shuddered.  “I hate that I ever went to that dance with him, but what if I’d said no?  Would he have targeted me too?”

Oska shrugged again.  “His reasoning only had an internal sense of logic.  Who knows what offended him or set him off?  Nobody was attacked for a reason.  Not really.”

“But why did he target you?  I’m sure he never asked you out.  And going after a cop would be a stupid move.”

“He’s a stupid guy.”

Andrea shook her head.  “He’s not, actually.  That’s the problem.  Why did he target you and risk getting caught after all these years?”

Oska shifted his attention to his other sock, not wanting to look Andrea in the eyes.  “He was jealous.”

“Jealous?  Of your position on the force or the fact that people liked you and didn’t think you were a creepy pus-filled smegmahole?”

Oska’s mouth quirked up on one side.  No one would ever accuse his ex-wife of being unimaginative.

“He was obsessed with one of the FBI agents assigned to the case.  And I do mean obsessed.  And since the agent liked me, Russ took it personally.”

“What?  So what?  I’m sure the agent liked Gus and everyone else too.  Did Russ attack everyone he ever smiled at?”

Oska couldn’t stop his small smile.  “He did a little more than smile at me.”

Andrea gasped softly, sounding absurdly scandalized.  “Did he harass you?” she whispered with affected shock.

Oska laughed softly.  “He did, actually.  But, it was mutual.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Benson and I…well…we liked each other.  And I mean that we ‘liked each other’ on basically every flat surface in my parents’ old house.”

“What?  I—” Andrea’s gasp this time was genuine.  “Ho-lee shitballs.  Is that why we got divorced?  Are you a full on fan of Dorothy?”

Oska finally looked up and met her eyes.  “Come on, you think I faked it with you all those years?”

“No.  No one can fake liking pussy that much.”

Oska put a hand to his warm face.  Somehow he also forgot how incredibly fucking direct Andrea could be.

“Yeah, well, yes.  You know why we got divorced and it had nothing to do with the sex.”

“But this agent…Benton?”

“Benson.”

“Benson…he’s a man.  And…you’re into it?”

Oska bobbed his head.  “I was always a little curious to be honest.  I fooled around with a guy in college a couple of times.  So, I guess I’ve always been like a Kinsey 1 or something.  But, sometimes that’s enough when it’s the right person.”

“Right person?  Wait, wait...are you two still together?”

Oska nodded.

“And like…you’re together.”

“Yes.”

“And you have sex.  With a man.”

“Andrea…” Oska groaned.

“Sorry.  No, not sorry.  It’s a lot to take in, okay?  I mean, you.  Sex with a man.”  She paused.  “Anal?”

“Andrea!”

“What?  Come on!  You can’t hold out on me on this.  Is it good?”

“Yes,” Oska replied testily.

“Better than us?”

Oska contemplated his answer.  “Do you really want to know?”

“Only if it’s not as good.”

“Then you don’t want to know.”

“Oh, nooo…” Andrea flopped over to her side, and then sat back up.  “I’ve been with three guys since the divorce and you’re still the best I ever had!”

Oska smirked.  “Oh yeah?  Maybe it’s just me.  Maybe I’m the best anybody will ever have, even myself.”

“Keep it up and I’ll tell this Agent Benson what you said and you probably will only have yourself to have sex with.”

Oska chuckled.  “I think he’d agree with me to be honest.”

Andrea made a face, and then she sobered quickly.  It was actually quite comforting to see someone he was so familiar with behave in familiar ways.

“Can I meet him?”

“He’s not here; he’s at home.”

“What home?”

“Our home.”

Andrea’s face flickered for the first time with an emotion that Oska couldn’t quite identify.

“’Our home?’  You’re living together?”

“We have been since I left Elton eight months ago.”

“How—how serious is this?”

Oska half shrugged.  “We’re getting married at the end of August.”

“What?!  Fuckin’ A , Oska!  Married?!”

“Jesus, calm down, Andrea,” Oska shushed the screaming woman as he glanced at the wall behind him.  He knew the walls weren’t that thick.  “It’s not that big a deal.  And you can’t even be upset that I’ve moved on because you’re dating someone too.  I saw it on Facebook.  Granted, that was a while ago.  Are you still with him?”

“Yeah.  Vinod.  He’s nice and I like him, but he’s just not fun.  Can you believe he refused to cross the border with me to party in Tijuana when he found out I didn’t have a passport?”

“Imagine that,” Oska replied.

“I know, right?  Come on.  Border Control aren’t real police.”

“No…they’re federal agents.”

“Whatever.”

Oska smiled.  “It’s good to see you, Andrea.”

“Is it?  Could have fooled me with the whole not reaching out to me thing.”

“I…I’m sorry.  I have no excuse for it.  Other than…last year was a very rough year for me.”

Andrea’s tough expression melted to sympathy.  She reached out and took one of Oska’s hands.  “I know, sweetie.  And I’m so sorry.  Are you okay?  I mean, really?”

Oska looked into Andrea’s eyes.  He’d never been comfortable lying to her, even little white lies, because she was such an open book and never hid any part of herself.

“I’m working on it,” he finally said.

Andrea gave his hand a squeeze.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You’re doing it.  I appreciate having a friend.”

“Always, Oska.  I still love you.  Just because we fell out of love doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.”

Oska nodded.  “I know.  Thank you.”

They sat for several long moments, not talking, but joined at the hands and drawing comfort from each other.  Eventually, Oska pulled back and Andrea let him go.

“So, is that how you pronounce it?  Vih-node?  You always date guys with weird names,” he teased her.

“Oh, what, like I should date guys with normal names like Russ?  Ugh!”  Andrea shook her whole body out.  “I still can’t fucking believe what a creepo-fuckturd he turned out to be.  I mean, I kissed him once!”

Oska was laughing at her reaction, and then he stopped.  “You what?  You told me after the dance that you didn’t!”

“I was sixteen.  I lied.  Fucking sue me.”

“I can’t believe you ever kissed him.  Even when we didn’t know he was a psycho-killer he was still an ass.”

“Yeah?  I can’t believe you just up and left your entire life without telling anyone.  We all do stupid things.”

Oska conceded sheepishly.

“Seriously, Oska, what were you thinking?  Your parents were gone, Natalia…you left your friends, your coworkers, Gus…you were all alone.  Why would you do that to yourself?”

“I told you, I’m not alone.”

Andrea narrowed her eyes suspiciously.  “Is he really real?”

Oska leaned back and picked up his cell phone from the nightstand.  He scanned through his photos of Benson until he settled on one of him kneeling down next to Charlie and smiling up at the camera.  It made Oska smile just to see it.  He passed the phone to Andrea, who took it with that momentary odd expression on her face again.  Oska watched her expectantly, wanting to see her reaction to his beautiful fiancé.  Her expression didn’t change for a moment, and then she looked up at him with amused disbelief.

“Okay, now I know he’s not real.”

“What?  Why?”

“Because this isn’t an FBI agent.  It’s an underwear model.”

Oska laughed and reached for the phone.  He scrolled through the photos and showed his ex-wife a picture of him in bed with his soon to be husband.  It was a selfie, so it only showed them from the clavicle up, but it was apparent that they were at least shirtless, in bed, and pressed very close together.

“Well, shit,” Andrea murmured.

“He is beautiful, isn’t he?”

“Yeah…”  Andrea used her finger to flick through more of the photos.  “You really love him?”

“Very much.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“Yes.”

She harrumphed in displeasure.  “Hey, I thought that puppy you picked up after the Haiti earthquake was a German shepherd mix or something.”

“Uh.  She was.  That dog with us is Charlie.  She’s a Weimaraner.  We adopted her from a retired army dog charity.”

“Well, that’s…sweet.  Ugh, you two are so gross.  So, do the two dogs get along?”

Oska took his phone back.  He scrolled through his photos until he found one of himself from nearly five years ago, cradling Bunny the puppy like a baby in his arms.

“Bunny’s not around.  Russ killed her.”

“W-what?”  Andrea sounded stunned.  “He killed a dog?  Jesus fuck.  Like, he’s a sick asspiss, a deranged monster, but who fucking kills a dog?”

“Bad people.”

They were silent after that, and the longer it stretched out, the more they realized that they had nothing more to say to each other.

“Well,” Andrea said, slapping her legs with her hands, breaking the spell that had fallen over them.  “I guess I better get out of your hair.  Apparently you’re super busy becoming a G-man.”

Oska nodded, and then Andrea smirked.

“Although, you always were kind of a G-man.  Maybe you can send Vinod a tutorial on how to find that particular spot.”

“I will not.”

“Fine.”

Andrea got off the bed with a flourish of legs and Oska followed her to the door.  They made half-meant promises to keep in touch as they walked down to the front desk.  After turning in her badge, Oska walked Andrea out to her car.  They hugged tightly without any awkwardness.  He’d always felt comfortable around Andrea and he was grateful that nothing could change that.

“Will you be around tomorrow?” Oska asked, spitting out her curly red hair from his mouth.  “I have Sunday off.”

“My flight leaves first thing in the morning.  My goal for this weekend was to find you and ream you.”

“Well, mission accomplished.”

“Take care of yourself, Oska.  And if your supermodel husband doesn’t, you call me.”

“I have faith in him.”

“Hm.  Well, I guess I do too, then.”

They pulled back and Oska opened her car door for her.  Before she got in, she cocked her head as she looked at him.

“Would it be weird if I was at the wedding?”

“Um…maybe.  Besides, I don’t think we’re going to have a big ceremony.”

“Okay.  Keep in touch.”

“I will.”

Andrea stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the lips.  Then she used her thumb to wipe them off.

“That’s a sign of respect for this Benson character.”

Oska snorted.  “I appreciate it.”

Andrea got into her car and Oska watched her drive away with his hands in his pockets.  He walked back to his dorm room and was pleased to find that Del was still gone.  He liked his roommate—friend—but he wanted to call Benson.  And he wanted to have his options open.

Oska flopped onto his bed and connected to Benson.  He checked the time: it wasn’t quite dinner time yet, so he should be at home.  Oska wondered if he should have taken Andrea out to eat, but they didn’t really have any more to catch up on.  While the split had been amicable and they still loved each other, she was still his ex-wife and he couldn’t help the slight bitterness he still had about the demise of their two decade relationship.

“Hey, Oz.”

“Hey, babe.  What are you doing?”

“Nothing much.  Contemplating whether to go out to eat or to order delivery.”

“You could cook.”

Benson laughed.  “You’re funny.  I love that you’re funny.”

“Shut up.”

“Anything happening with you?”

“Uh…well…not with classes or anything, but…I had a visitor today.”

“What kind of visitor?”

“My ex-wife.”

Oska paused and listened.  Benson didn’t say anything.

“It’s kind of funny, she managed to get on base, into the Academy, and all the way to my room without anyone stopping her.  She’s always had this amazing ability to go anywhere or get anything she wants.”

More silence.  And then, “Should I be worried?”

Oska smiled and settled down against his pillow, one hand playing with the waistband of his official FBI sweatpants.

“Seriously?  You’re jealous?”

“No, you just said that she snuck into the Academy.  I’m concerned from a security standpoint.”

“Oh.”  Oska’s hand stilled.  “Well, that’s disappointing.”

Benson chuckled lowly and the sound vibrated in Oska’s ear and slithered over his body causing him to shiver.

“What, you want me to be jealous?  You want me to demand that you tell me how you belong to me?  That I remind you that you’re mine?  That I own every part of your body and soul and if she even looks at you the wrong way I’ll tie her to a chair and make her watch me put my claim on you?”

“Well.  That escalated quickly.  But, yes.”

Benson laughed.  “Okay.  Is she still there?  Should I bring duct tape?”

“You wouldn’t have to bring duct tape.  She’d probably stay of her own volition.”

“Hm, what little you’ve told me about her, I get the feeling that you and I have really only scratched the surface of your kinky sex repertoire.”

It was Oska’s turn to chuckle and he tried not to replace his memory of a blindfold and bondage night with his ex-wife with Benson in her place.  That just wasn’t nice.

“So…my roommate is gone.”

“Is he?  What’s your point, Oz?” Benson asked, sounding like he knew exactly what Oska’s point was.

“We could have phone sex.”

“Ah.  Thank you for clarifying; I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, we don’t have time to beat about the bush, if you’ll pardon the expression.  I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Okay.  Let’s get started then.”

Oska hesitated.  They’d had phone sex plenty of times, but it had always happened naturally, not with a “Get set, go!”

“Uh…what are you wearing?”

“A grey fur coat.”

“A grey fur…” Oska repeated, brow creased in confusion.  “Oh!  Get that dog off the couch!”

“She’s not on the couch.”

“Get her out of our bed!”

“You never shooed Bunny out of the bed.”

“That was different.”

“You’re just playing favorites.  This is my dog and my bed and I say she can stay.”

“You want her in bed when I start describing how I want to part your legs, crawl up between them, and mouth at you through your boxers?  Get you hard and horny without even skin to skin contact?  And then pull down the waistband just enough to see that delicious, flushed tip.  To flick my tongue over it, barely touching it, tease it until I can taste precome.  Then pull down your shorts enough to see the whole head, fat and hot, and wrap my lips around it and suck and lick—but just the tip.  I’ll hold your hips down so you can’t thrust up.  You just have to lay there and feel my tongue wrap around you and tease the slit and lap up whatever you give me.  Until I take you in a bit more.  And a bit more.  And I’d go slowly, baby, so slow…You’d feel your huge cock going into my mouth inch by inch, and yet all those inches left untouched would be even more sensitive to just the brush of moving air.  And then, when I’d finally taken you in to the base, nose pressed against your freshly shaven skin, I’d let go of your hips and let you take over.  And then you’d fuck me, babe.  You’d fuck my mouth so good, the head going down my throat.  You’d be wild for it by that point, desperate, needy, moaning, ruthless.  And then you’d come, and pull out as you do so that I’d swallow the first spurt, feel the second fill my mouth, and then let the rest cover my face.”

Oska paused and appreciated the heavy breathing and soft whine he heard over the line.

“You want the dog to stay in bed while we do that?”

Benson groaned.  “Fuck you, man.”  There was shuffling on the line and distantly he heard Benson telling Charlie to get off the bed.  He heard her nails click on the floor when she landed, and then the loud breathing was back in his ear.

“Jesus, Oska…” Benson moaned and now Oska could hear the slick movements of his hand on his cock.  “Oh, God…I’m almost there, honey.”

Benson groaned again and Oska listened, mildly surprised that Benson had just come without him, but he didn’t mind.  He palmed his erection through the sweatpants and closed his eyes as he tried to picture the sweaty, panting mess Benson must look like in their bed.  Sprawled across the sheets, legs spread, hand fisting that beautifully large cock.  Oska tilted his head back and sighed as he gripped his cock through the fabric of his pants.

Benson caught his breath and groaned softly before saying, “I don’t think honey is going to work out.  It just sounds wrong when you’re having sex.  That’s like what parents call their kids.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t mind it.”

“Come on, why can’t I just use baby?  It was mine first, you know.  You whined and complained and told me not to you call that.”

“Exactly.  That hasn’t changed.”

“So why do you get to use it?”

“Because it’s my pet name for you.”

“We can use the same pet name.”

“No,” Oska said, putting his hand under his sweatpants and lazily stroking his cock.

“You’re not leaving me anything good.  We’re going to be stuck with ‘Oh, yeah, domestic partner, just like that.”

Oska laughed.  “You know, Benson, I love you for a lot of reasons, but not least of them is that you make me laugh.”

“I feel like that’s not meant to be an insult…”

“It’s not…ah…”  Oska exhaled when he swiped his thumb over the head of his cock.  “Just keep talking, let me hear your voice.”

“Doesn’t have to be dirty?  I can talk about what I had for lunch today?”

“Honestly, you could read the DIOG to me and I think I could get off.”

Benson laughed.  “Come on, honey, no one can get off to that.  No, no.  Not feeling honey.”

“Well, the week is over, you can pick something else.”

“What are you doing?”

“Touching myself.  Imagining it’s you.  You know…it’s actually been a while since I physically bottomed.  I just seriously want your cock in my ass.  I need you in me, to fill me.  I need you to just fucking…oh God…Benson…I need you to…to…control me.”

“Oska…” Benson said, sounding breathless again.  “Who’s supposed to be getting who off here?”

“Benson…talk to me…”

“I’m here, love, I’m here.  We don’t have to be gentle today; do what you need to do.”

Oska’s hand convulsed around his cock and he moaned at his own roughness.

“That’s it, go on, Oz.  I know how you like it.  I love watching you jerk off.  Did you know I watched you in the shower once?  One hand pulling at your hair, your nipples, running over your body while the other gripped and pulled on your cock so hard…I saw how you like it a little wild, a little rough.  So you know what I did?  Can you guess?”

“I…”  Oska’s hand sped up, which was difficult because he didn’t ease his grip.  It hurt a little bit since his hand was dry but fuck if that didn’t just make it better.  “I don’t…”  And then he remembered.  “That night in the kitchen…”

Oska had been cooking dinner sometime in January.  Benson had come home from work.  They’d said their hellos, and Benson had gone to say hello to Charlie and change out of his suit.  When he came back into the room, he hadn’t said a word, just pulled Oska away from the stove and bent him over the kitchen island.  He’d restrained his arms behind his back and Oska had protested that they didn’t have time because he was cooking, that the chicken would burn.  But Benson had prepped him quickly, and it had been a wonder to realize how different it was from the first time.

The first time Benson had had to take his time and work him open so slowly.  Now, a little lube, a little prodding, and he could take him in so easily.  He wasn’t sure a full two minutes had passed from the time he’d been yanked away from the stove to having his pants around his ankles and Benson’s cock buried to the hilt in his ass.  He’d fucked him hard, wouldn’t let go of his arms, and never said a word.  Oska came from being turned on by the situation more than anything Benson’s cock or hand did.  But he came fast and hard and Benson had come inside him and then slapped his ass when he pulled out.  He’d left him there and told him that he better check on dinner.  He hadn’t even been able to revel in the aftershocks because he’d had to waddle, trapped in his pants, to the stove to get the chicken off the heat.  It hadn’t burned, but was perhaps a bit overdone.

Benson hadn’t complained when they'd eaten dinner though.  He’d said it was delicious and made sure that Oska knew how much he appreciated him.  And they’d been gentle later that night.  Soft kisses and sighs and Benson had arched against him as Oska had slowly thrust into him.  He hadn’t known then how Benson had known he’d wanted that…he still wasn’t sure how he’d figured it out from one jerk off session, but he supposed that just meant they were kind of sickeningly perfect for each other.

“That night in the kitchen,” Oska repeated on a moan.  “Oh, fuck, Benson…I liked that so much.”

“I know you did.”

“Oh, fuck, oh…come…coming, Benson…”

“God, I love the sounds you make when you come.”

Oska panted and tugged gently on his softening erection to draw out the orgasm.  When he was done he pulled his hand out of his pants and let it fall onto his chest.

“Benson.  We need…”

“Yeah, I know.  Do you want to go on a walk with Charlie and me tomorrow?”

“I’d love that.”

“Okay then.  Don’t forget to charge your phone tonight.”

“I will.”

“Love you, love.  Nope.  See?  Love won’t work either.”

“You didn’t even give it a chance,” Oska chuckled.

“I don’t know.  I’ll think on it.”

“Okay.  Bye.  Love you.”

“You too.”

Oska let Benson end the call, and then let his arm drop onto the bed.  His eyelids drooped and he let them.  His descent into a pleasant nap was disrupted when Del returned from the gym.  He nodded to Oska, and then paused and looked back at him, probably taking in his boneless appearance, the damp spot on his pants, and the awkward way he held one hand.

“Talk to Benson recently?” Del asked dryly as he dropped his gym bag on the floor and took off his shoes.

“Maybe.”

“I’m gonna take a shower and then get some dinner.  Think you can get cleaned up in time to go?”

“Yep.”

Del picked up his towel and shower caddy.  He paused with the door partially open.  “You know…part of me hopes to find someone to love the way you two do, but…”

Oska looked over at him curiously.

“Part of me is scared to love that intensely.”

Del inhaled, but then didn’t speak again, just left the room.

Oska looked up at the ceiling.  “I know what you mean.”


	4. Week 4

**Monday, July 28, 2014**

Benson groaned as he searched through his pants and coat pockets.  He’d left his frickin’ keys upstairs.  Damn it.  Well, it was just as well he had to go back upstairs and get them; he couldn’t remember if he’d left the coffee maker on.  On the elevator ride up to his floor, he palmed the outline of his personal phone in his right front pants pocket.  He wanted Oska to call.  He hadn’t called that morning.  They hadn't spoken today.  They spoke every day.  Even if it was only for a couple of minutes.  If he couldn’t talk in the morning, Oska always sent him a text to let him know.  Benson pulled his phone out to check if he’d gotten a text.  Nope.

His keys were next to the coffee maker.  Where he’d left them when he’d checked the coffee maker for the third time, which was definitely off.  Benson pressed his palms onto the countertop and inhaled deeply.  What did Oska always tell him to do?  It was okay to check if something had been done, but once he verified it, he needed to trust himself.  Well, clearly that was bullshit because he’d forgotten his keys.  Of course he’d only forgotten his keys because he’d checked the coffee maker for the third time.

Benson straightened and looked at the coffee maker.  It was off.  He felt his pockets as he ticked off each item: creds, badge, wallet, personal phone.  Bu phone in its holster.  Gun in its holster.  Hand cuffs clipped onto the back of his belt.  Keys were in hand.  He walked out the door, checked that it was locked, and then went to the elevator.  His young neighbor, Emma, joined him just as the elevator arrived.

“Morning, Mr. Remick.”

“Hey, Emma.”

“Are you excited for another Monday?”

Benson gave her an amused look.  “Are you?”

“Every Monday is one week closer to me graduating and heading off to college!”  She grinned and tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Why are kids so fast to grow up these days?”

“’These days,’” the teenager snorted.  “Like you weren’t exactly the same in the olden days.”

“Olden days?  How old do you think I am?”

“Old enough to remember the 80’s.”

“And that’s old?”

“Old enough to remember the 90’s is old.”

“Come on, you were born in the 90’s.”

“In ’97, dude.  By the time I was old enough to have memories that stuck, it was the aughts.”

Benson rolled his eyes.  “You suck.”

“Very mature,” Emma said as she stepped out into the lobby.

“Meh-meh meh-ture,” Benson griped as the doors closed.

As much as getting sassed by a cute blonde who wasn’t even old enough to vote before 8:00am sucked, it had at least kept his mind preoccupied.  As he crossed the garage to his car, his paranoia had started poking at him again.  He ignored it.  He trusted himself.  Oska had taught him that.  He opened his car door (see? He had his keys) and sat down.  He turned the car on and carefully fastened his seatbelt in place.  He adjusted the radio even though it was mostly static because he was underground.  He was stalling.  He shouldn’t.  He was good to go.  He was an adult.  He wasn’t codependent on his fiancé getting him through life.  He could do this.

Benson put the car into reverse and took his foot off the brake.  His phone rang in his pocket.

“Oh, thank God,” Benson sighed, putting the car back in park.  He dug his phone out of his pocket and swiped his finger over the screen to answer.

“Hey, Benson.”

“Hey, Oz.  You didn’t call.  Or text.”

“I know, I slept past my alarm and had to run to the shower.  I’ve gotta run now or I won’t have time for breakfast before class.  But I wanted to call and say good morning.  So, good morning.”

“It is now.”

“Aw, babe.  So sweet.”

“Shut up,” Benson said with a laugh.  “Alright.  Go get some grub.”

“Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.”

Benson put the car in reverse and started his commute to work.  It wasn’t until he was parking in the garage at WFO that he remembered that he’d forgotten to be worried that he’d forgotten something.  Ironic.

Benson was the first on his squad to arrive (since Jordan wasn’t around), and he appreciated the still and quiet of the office.  It wouldn’t last long though, so he decided to goof off on the Internet until people came in and he’d have to actually start working.  He’d finally narrowed down his Rocky Mountain B&B’s to three.  One was in Colorado Springs, one was in Denver, and one was in Bozeman, Montana near Yellowstone Park.  He was leaning toward the last one, but was nature enough to keep them occupied?  Wouldn’t they maybe want to go to experience some civilization as well?  Then again, would they even step foot outside the bedroom?  Maybe seclusion was the best way to go.

“Yo, Benson.”

Benson looked up as Ainsley rounded the corner.  He sat in Jordan’s chair and pushed it close to Benson’s desk.

“Hey, Ainsley.  Did you finish looking through that data?”

“Yeah, on Friday.  I sent you an email.  Didn’t you get it?”

“Oh.  I haven’t checked my email just yet.  I just got in.”

“Just got in.  But…you’ve got like six tabs open on Firefox…on Bed & Breakfasts.  Interesting.  Retirement plan?”

“No,” Benson grumbled and opened up his classified email.  Ainsley had sent him a file at 7:31pm on Friday.  Well past COB, but he had stayed late to finish so he wasn’t going to bust the kid’s balls over it.

“Vacation?” Ainsley asked.

“Yeah, kind of.”  Benson realized he hadn’t actually told anyone at work he was getting married.  Hell, most of them probably didn’t even know he was shacking up with a guy who going to be joining them as an agent soon.  “Um, I’m looking for honeymoon spots.”

“Honeymoon?  For you?  Or someone else?”

“For me.”

“No way.  I didn’t know you were engaged.  Congrats.  When’s the wedding?”

“As soon as he graduates from NAC.”

“He’s going to be an agent?  Cool!  So, I’ll get to meet him.”

“Yeah,” Benson replied, grateful the kid hadn’t even flinched at the pronoun.

“So, the mountains, huh?  I would have pegged you for the beach.”

“Nah.  Sand is overrated.”

Ainsley snort-laughed.  “Tell me about it.  I had sex in sand once.  Never do it.”

“So noted.”

“Okay, so as long as I’m here, let me show you what I found.”

Ainsley reached over Benson and opened the Excel spreadsheet he had emailed him the night before.  Benson just scooted his chair back and let the kid drive.

“Okay, so I looked through everything for the past three years.  I found seventeen instances in the last six months of clients losing money on the false securities.  But, those are tied to the national scheme, so I put them aside.  Then I looked at the discrepancies in the money earned versus what was returned to everyone’s accounts.  There are thirty-six of those, which sounds like a lot, but works out to be out two a month, exactly.  Like a schedule almost.  And they all occurred within the last eighteen months.  The other eighteen months of data we have before that there’s not a single discrepancy and only a couple instances of bad investments.  Like, Klein & Klein was an amazing investment firm earning way more money than it was losing for its clients and with zero shadiness going on.”

“So, the problems didn’t start until the around the time Flora Vasquez started working there.”

“Pretty much.  But, even still nothing was really that bad or noticeable.  No large chunks of money going missing or anything.  All routine stuff.  Until six months ago when they got suckered with the fraudulent securities.  I mean, if that hadn't happened, I can’t see anyone noticing any of the other stuff.”

“So, the odds that Vasquez is responsible are pretty good.”

“I’d say so.  If she’s the only one who has access to the program, that’s the only place where the figures don’t add up.  Now, there is one more interesting thing.  If you’ll look here, all of the transactions that result in money going missing have two deposits set up to their personal bank accounts.  All the others only have one.  And it’s the same bank account—same number and everything.  So, why would the clients make two deposits to the same bank account?  It’s not like it’s checking and savings or something.  They’re just making two deposits at the same time to the same account.  But, the total being reported doesn’t add up to how much the program initially ingested.  Something hinky is going on.”

“This is great work, Ainsley.  I’ll pass it on to Jordan and maybe he can dig into it a little more from the inside.  Also, I think we’ve got enough to open an assessment on Vasquez.  So, I’m going to get that process started and you go ahead and start pulling what you can on her at the assessment level.”

“Will do!”

Ainsley pushed Jordan’s chair back to his desk and walked around to his side of the faux-cubicles.  Before he disappeared behind the makeshift divide, he leaned over to Benson’s side.

“Oh, yeah.  Are you sure you’re gay?”

Benson gave him a confused look.  “I’m not gay.  I’m bisexual.  And, yes, I’m sure.”

“Really?” Ainsley questioned.  “Because like when I first started working here, you saw me without a shirt on in the gym and you didn’t even look twice.”

“Okay.  One?  You look fifteen.  So, no, not interested.  And two…are you attracted to every woman you’ve ever interacted with?”

“No, but dude.  I’m ripped.  You had to have noticed.”  Ainsley started flexing in exaggerated poses.

Benson laughed and shook his head.  “I’m sure you are, bro.  But you’re not my type.”

“Hot bod’s not your type?” he said, rolling his abs to demonstrate his hard, flat stomach.

“Nope.  I like my guys old and flabby.  Like Bob.”

Ainsley laughed and Benson chuckled, not quite believing he was having this conversation.  They both stopped laughing at the same time as they saw Bob watching them from the door of his office.  Ainsley slowly sank down into his seat and disappeared by the divide.  Benson focused intently on his computer monitor.

“M’not flabby,” Bob muttered before closing his office door with a thud.

There was a pause, and then Benson and Ainsley burst into snickers.

~~~

Jordan read the email from Benson and decided rather than trying to set up an appointment with Flora, he’d just go straight down to talk to her.  Once again he found the IT “department” empty except for Flora who was playing some of kind of RPG game where her troll-elf type character was running around a castle slashing at things.  She had her headphones on again, so he called out her name loudly.  She still started wildly, but at least she didn’t nearly fall out of her chair.  Jordan politely ignored her annoyed glare and waited for her to pause her game and pop out her ear buds.  She turned in her chair and waved toward the spare chair in her office.  Jordan took a seat and smiled at her.  She raised an eyebrow in return.

“Good morning, Flora.”

“Good morning…?”

“Jordan.”

“Jordan.  Right.  If you’re having a problem with your password or printer, you can submit a service request.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.  I just wanted to talk a little bit more about your money transfer program.  I admit I’m not very good with computers or technical stuff, so I’d appreciate your patience with all of my dumb questions.”

Her eyes flickered up, but she didn’t quite roll them.  “Sure.  Do you need me to show you how to make a new transaction again?”

“Actually, it has more to do with the reports.  I was given the investment data from the last three years so that I could look for trends or changes in productivity.  And I did notice something interesting.  There are several instances, over thirty, where the earnings returned from an investment don’t match the amounts transferred back to the client.  I also determined that these cases have only started happening in the last year and a half or so…after Klein & Klein started using your new system.  Now, I’m sure there’s an explanation for it, so I was wondering if you could help me out?”

“Yeah, it’s fees.  Klein & Klein gets a cut, of course, otherwise there’s no business.  It takes the fees out before returning the money to the clients, rather than charging the clients the money after the fact the way they used to.  The clients like it better because they don’t have to actually make a payment to the company.  I guess it makes them feel like they’re not really having to pay or something.”

“Well, part of the returns does go into a company account, but the numbers still don’t add up.”

“That account is the money that the client designates for Klein & Klein to hold onto for the next time they invest.  The fees are deposited directly to the company and is not shown on the report.”

“I see.”

“You can probably check all the transactions with Mr. Carpinelli’s figures.  It should show how much the fees were and when they were taken out.”

“I’ll check with him, thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“Uh, one more thing.  Do you know why some clients make two deposits to their accounts on the same transactions?”

Flora shrugged.  “They probably want some to go to savings and one to checking.”

“No, it’s the exact same bank account number.  So, they’re making two separate deposits to the same account during the same transaction.”

Flora shrugged again.  “I don’t know.  You’d have to ask them why they have it set it up like that.  The clients and the brokers put the info into the program.  The program just carries it out.”

“Well, thank you, Flora.  You’ve cleared that up for me.”

“So, we’re good?  No more interviews or anything?”

“Not for now, but it’s good to know I can always come to you when I need to.  I appreciate that.”

He gave her a winning smile and she barely refrained from making a face.  She wanted him gone, he could pick up on that much, and the reason couldn’t just be that she found him annoying.  She’d been playing with the dangling earring in her right ear ever since he brought up the discrepancies in the numbers.  If she wasn’t lying, she was nervous about something.

Jordan left her and replayed the conversation in his head.  She’d been nervous when she’d told him about the fees being taken out thus explaining the differences in totals, but her speech pattern had been normal.  It had been so even it almost sounded rehearsed.  The real nerves had kicked in when he’d brought up the two deposits to the same bank account.  Her answer had almost been defensive.  She was kind of a terrible liar.  He supposed she either hadn’t been doing this long or had never been questioned about it at any of the other companies she had run the scam.

But what was the scam?  Sure there appeared to be some missing money, but it was either going to the company or to the clients’ bank accounts.  And that was how the business was supposed to work.  So unless one was getting more than they were supposed to, there was no crime.  But that left him wondering if Klein & Klein was skimming a meager amount of money from themselves, or if the clients were somehow getting a higher cut of the money.  Maybe they should be investigating the clients.

Jordan took the elevator down to the lobby rather than up to his office.  It was close enough to noon that he decided he’d go pester Arella into taking an early lunch.  She was on the phone when he leaned on the high counter, so he took the opportunity to just take her in.

She wore a stiff white blouse with a formfitting black pencil skirt and had an actual string of pearls around her neck.  To counter the severity of her outfit, her hair fell around her shoulders in golden waves and her makeup was neutral with just a little shimmer.  His treacherous heart couldn’t help but compare her to Ann.  They were both quite petite, especially compared to him, but other than that they were night and day.  Arella was light eyes and fair haired and her smiles were always peppy and exuberant.  Ann had that lush, dark hair and gorgeous doe eyes, and her smiles always held just a hint of mischief in them.  Maybe that’s why he was so drawn to Arella now—she didn’t remind him of Ann in the slightest.  And yet…here he was still thinking of her.

Arella hung up with a chipper, “Have a nice day.”  Then she made a face.  “Moron.”

Jordan chuckled.  “How’s the world of reception?”

“Ugh, awful.  You have to be nice to people even when they’re rude wankers.”

“Wankers?” Jordan asked with a laugh.

“Oh, uh…yeah.  I had a roommate who was British.  Picked up a few insults.”

“So, do you want to go to lunch early?”

“I don’t know.  You didn’t call me all weekend.”

“I…Arella,” he whined softly.  “I think we need to talk about what we’re doing before we do anything.”

“Why?  Why can’t it just…be?  Why does it have to be something?”

“It doesn’t!  At all.  I just…want to make it clear that we’re both on the same page as wanting to stay away from…something.”

“Gosh.  American men are always so worried that the woman will always want to turn it into a house and kids in the suburbs.”

“American men?”

“I have some international dating experience.  You Americans…men.  You American men are just so sensitive.”

“M’not sensitive,” Jordan mumbled, frowning.

“Mm-hmm.  See that right there?  Sensitive.  Now, let’s go to lunch and if you need for me to go into detail about what we could do that’s not ‘something,’ I can…but we better pick a table that’s not near any children.”

She grinned and Jordan ducked his head, breaking eye contact to avoid blushing.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

They opted to leave the office building and take the somewhat long walk to La Tasca.  They managed to get a two person booth in a quiet corner because they were slightly ahead of the lunch rush.  They argued playfully over what plates to order (she wanted some sort of gross-sounding Israeli couscous thing and he relented because she was pretty), but in the end had an eclectic assortment of vegetarian and meat dishes to choose from.

Their conversation was pleasantly banal, but not boring.  He really enjoyed Arella’s thoughtfulness and sense of humor and the more he liked her, the worse he felt about lying to her about who he was.  Neither of them asked much about families or personal history, they seemed content to stick with movies, sports, music, even a little politics, but when he had to change a story from “my brother” to “my friend” because Jordan Bell was an only child, he felt that guilt kick in.  The discomfort made him taciturn and after a while the conversation faded.  Asking the waiter for the bill made them aware that the silence was completely uncomfortable.

“So,” Arella said, giving him a wry smile.  “Let’s resort to our ice breaker.  How’s the case going?”

Jordan’s eyes snapped up.  “What case?”

“The whole investigating the company thing.  I mean, come on, QC guy?  You were totally hired by Carpinelli and Klein to snoop around the company.  Possibly to spy on each other.  We found out Flora’s past is little shady.  Are there any other people we should be interested in?”

“Arella, you can’t—”

“Have a hobby?  I totally looked into the whole PI thing and I can get licensed without having a degree if I have comparable work experience.  So, I need some practice snooping around.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Jordan laughed.

“Oh, come on.  What harm is there in me doing a little snooping on my own time?”

A lot of harm if it blows back onto the FBI.  He considered his options.  He was curious to know if there was anything shady regarding the clients who had double deposits, but that wasn’t enough to warrant an agent investigating them.  Even if she didn’t know she was working for a federal agent, he still couldn’t direct Arella to do anything illegal because any evidence she uncovered would be inadmissible and might force eventual charges to be dropped.  But…if he didn’t direct her to do it, he supposed if she dug up information on her own there was nothing illegal about using the information.

The check came and Jordan picked it up before Arella could.  She just smirked at him as he pulled cash out of his wallet.

“You always pay in cash,” Arella commented.

“Is that odd?”

She shrugged.  “It’s just not common anymore.”

Jordan smiled.  “Maybe I don’t like people to know my business.”

Arella smiled.  “Fair enough.  But you know, if you’re going to do date-like things and pay, you really ought to do other date-like things.”

“Such as?” he teased.

“If you don’t know I’m not going to tell you,” she said airily and stuck her nose in the air.

Jordan grinned.  “Come on, gumshoe.  Maybe if you work me over on the way back to the office I’ll let something slip.”

 

“So,” Arella said as the ground floor elevator doors closed, “the accounts that have the double deposits were all made by the same six people over the last eighteen months?”

“Shh,” Jordan hushed her.  “Not in the building.”

“Sorry.”  She was quiet for a moment.  “And most of them are relatively new clients?”

“Shush.  But, yes.”

“Well, that’s suspicious.  Give me their names and I’ll do some research.”

“I can’t do that!”

The doors opened and Jordan waved a hand at her to prevent her from saying anything else.  He walked her to the desk and she sat down a little grumpily.

“Can I borrow some paper and pen?” he asked.

Arella gave him a notepad and a sparkly purple pen.  She looked like she was trying to come up with ways to talk about the taboo subject without sounding like she was talking about it.

“Now listen to me, Arella,” Jordan said as he wrote on the paper.  “You are not to do anything illegal.  I would never ask you to engage in any illegal activities.”

She narrowed her eyes, but only with suspicion, not anger.

“Do you understand that I’m not directing you to do anything?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Okay.  I’ll see you later.”

He handed the notepad and pen back to her and she couldn’t even wait for him to turn his back before she flipped to the page he had written on.  He had decided to write down his username and password for the money transfer program because it was so hard to remember sometimes.  Unfortunately, he left his notepad behind on Arella’s desk.  If she saw it, logged into the program, found the accounts with the double deposits, and did a little research on those specific clients, well, there was nothing he could do about that.

 

**Tuesday, July 29, 2014**

 

 Okay, there was definitely something he could have done about turning a blind eye to Arella digging into this case, and at the top of that list was not going over to her apartment late on a Tuesday night so she could show him what she had found.  It was nearly ten o’clock at night, and she had insisted that the meeting take place so late because she had to clean her apartment before he came over—because he insisted they couldn’t meet at his place because of his “roommate.”  There was no telling what he might forget to hide in his apartment that would give him away; he just couldn’t take the risk.  She had seemed just as reluctant to have him over to her place, but eventually conceded with the stipulation that he not show up before ten.

It was ten o’clock and he was standing outside her building, finger hovering over the intercom to call up to the apartment and let her know he had arrived.  In theory he was just coming over to find out what she had learned, so why did he have two condoms in his wallet?  He ran a hand down over his face, pulling his cheek down and exposing the lower part of his eyeball to the muggy night air.  He shouldn’t be here.  He shouldn’t be accepting illegally obtained information on American citizens and he should not be contemplating sleeping with a woman who had no idea who she would actually be sleeping with.

And yet…he punched in her apartment number on the dial pad, and the door buzzed indicating it was unlocked within a matter of moments.  Jordan managed to shut down all of his doubts and worries as he rode the elevator to the twelfth floor.  His hand had brushed his pocket, which had let him feel the outline of his phone, which had reminded him of the message he’d received less than an hour ago.

Ann: _You could just be really busy which would explain not answering your phone, but if you don’t respond to a text then I’ll know you’re ignoring me._

Damn right he was ignoring her.

Jordan knocked on Arella’s door and she answered wearing a small T-shirt and very short exercise shorts.  Her hair was bunched up in a messy quasi-ponytail on the top of her head.  He’d never seen her so unkempt, but she still looked amazing.

“Hey.”

“Hi.  I’m sorry I look like a bum, but cleaning took longer than I thought.”

Jordan shrugged.  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

“Well, now you’ll never know,” she smiled, stepping back so that Jordan could enter the apartment.  It was apparent it was a large apartment, possibly with more than one bedroom and bathroom.  Considering it was located near Logan Circle it had to be incredibly expensive.  He had to wonder how much Klein & Klein paid their receptionists.  Maybe he ought to look into retiring from the Bureau and working for John and Chris when the case was over.  If they hadn’t been arrested of course.

The apartment was sparsely furnished and decorated and had a slightly odd smell.  Nothing bad, but it kind of reminded him of “newness.”  Then again, she had apparently spent the last few hours scrubbing the place from top to bottom.  There was a laptop sitting on the coffee table next to a spread of papers.

“Been busy, I see,” Jordan nodded his head toward the pile of apparent research.

Arella shrugged.  “Nothing else to do on a Monday night.”

“I see that.  No TV?”

She shrugged.  “I’m not really into TV.  If I watch something I do it on my laptop.  Netflix, Hulu, you know.”

“Right.  Smart.  Saves you an outrageous cable bill.”

“That is does.  So, um, would you like anything to drink or…?”

“Water would be great actually,” Jordan said swallowing around his suddenly dry mouth.  As he’d walked farther into the living room, he’d gotten a glimpse through an open door down the hallway.  He’d seen a bed with a white bedspread.  He needed to stop thinking about sex; she had technically invited him here for work.

“Sure thing.”

Arella walked around the corner and he followed.  His eyebrows shot up when he saw the dining room connected to a large, open kitchen and a balcony along the back wall.  He let out a low whistle.

“This place is pretty great.”

“Thank you.  I like it.”

Arella opened a cabinet, and when her shirt rode up exposing the soft skin on the curve of her lower back, he almost missed that she pulled out a glass from a mostly empty cabinet.  She added ice to the glass and walked to the sink to fill it with water.  Jordan sauntered casually into the room, pretending to admire the space.  He opened one of the doors of a double cabinet and saw that there were two plates, two bowls, and one glass in it.  The rest of the shelves were bare.

“Frugal?” Jordan asked, letting the cabinet shut.

He accepted the glass of water from Arella and soothed his dry mouth.

“Waste not,” she shrugged.  “Plus, most of the dishes are in the dishwasher.  I told you it was a mess.  There was a huge pile of dishes in the sink.  But if you really want to know how disgusting I am, I can show you the pile of dirty laundry in the hamper.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Mm-hmm.  Now, come here.  I need to show you what I found.”

Jordan followed her back into the living room and they sat down on the couch together.  Something crunched under his weight, so he dug around in between the seat cushions and pulled out a bit of wrapping plastic.  Arella laughed when she saw it and took it out of his hand.

“I bought this sofa a couple of weeks ago.  I guess I didn’t get all the wrapping off it.  Thanks for finding that for me.”

“No problem.”

“Okay, so, I looked up the six people who have had the double deposits,” she said, putting her hands on a stack of papers on the end of the coffee table.  “Don’t make that face.  I know you told me not to, but I did, and you’re here now, so deal with it.”

Jordan put his hands up.  “Fine, fine.  What’d you find?”

“Most of them are fairly new to Klein & Klein; only two have been clients longer than two years.  Reading over the reports generated from the transfer program, there’s nothing terribly suspicious other than the totals not always matching up.  Now, you said Flora explained that away as the fees being processed before the money is given back to the clients.  But then why isn’t that the case for all the transactions?”

“That’s a good point.”

“The reports only provide what has been deemed to be ‘pertinent’ information, but it doesn’t list all of the information stored in the clients’ profiles.  So, I accessed the individual transactions so that I could see everything.”  She pulled out a folder from among the spread of papers.  “The six clients we’re looking at all have a box checked off to process fees—”

“Wait, wait,” Jordan interrupted her.  “How did you get into the actual transactions?  My account doesn’t have access to that.  Only the broker who made the transaction and his second has access to it.”

Arella opened her mouth, but then closed it without speaking.  Her eyes jumped around his face and then she put the folder in her lap.

“Well.  Maybe it’s one of those things that you don’t want to know…” she finally said.

“Are you a hacker?”

“I have a skill set that can be useful at times.”

“Arella…”

“Jordan, just look.”  She opened the file and scooted closer to him on the couch so that they pressed side to side.  Well, she probably did it so that she could show him the documents in the file.  “So, like I was saying: these six particular clients have the button checked off indicating that they want to have their fee processed prior to transferring the money back to their personal and Klein & Klein accounts.  None of the others have that option checked off.”

“Well, that explains the differences in totals then.”

“It does, but Klein & Klein have scores of clients.  You’re telling me that only six out of like three hundred choose to do this?”

“I guess that’s a little weird.”

“Not only that, but again, those six who chose that option are the only ones with two deposits to the same accounts.”

Arella bounced on the cushion.  “Here’s the best part.  It is the same bank account number.  The report shows that.  But when you look at the details of the transaction, the client has to enter in the routing number for the bank.  And they all have different banks like Wells Fargo and Bank of America.  Big corporate banks.  And they only have one bank listed as who they bank with.  But!”

Jordan startled back at her excited shout.  She grinned and put a hand on his thigh.

“But every single transaction that has a second deposit into the same bank account number, has a different routing number than the first deposit.  And guess what?  They’re all the same routing number for all six clients.  And guess what bank it’s for?”

Jordan waited, but Arella just looked at him excitedly.  Apparently she wanted him to answer this time.  What was she asking him?  All he could think about was that something shady was definitely going on and that her hair smelled like apples.

“Bank?” he managed to get out.

“Yes!  The second deposit goes to a different bank, which is not listed in their records, with the exact same account number as their other bank account which I don’t have to tell you is like fucking impossible for six people to randomly have the exact same account number at two different banks especially when all six people have their second account at…”

She waited excitedly again, and finally something clicked in his brain.

“Potomac First.”

Arella slammed the file down onto the coffee table.  “First fucking Potomac.  Something’s going on here.  Something really weird.  This isn’t anything Klein & Klein is doing, it’s the clients.  And it’s not embezzlement, not really.  Because it’s their own money.  But, they’re hiding where it goes.”

“Holy shit,” Jordan said, picking up the file and looking at the first print out that showed the mismatching routing numbers in front of the same bank account numbers.  “Good work, Arella.”

“Thanks.”

“But we can’t rule out Klein & Klein being involved somehow just yet.  After all, the program had to be approved to be deployed and someone has to be ignoring the fact that the numbers don’t match.  Well, either that or someone is being lazy when double checking this information.”

“Even still, this is huge,” Arella said.  “These people,” she tapped the file.  “They’re up to something.  And when rich people try to hide where their money is going, it’s usually something really awful.”

Jordan considered everything she’d said.  She was right.  There was something much bigger going on here than simple theft.  Even if the “processed fees” were being diverted away from Klein & Klein, most of the money belonged to the people who were shunting it into a different bank.  It was entirely possible that there was a larger crime occurring, one that was potentially much more dangerous.

“Arella, I appreciate what you’ve done, really, but if you’re right and these people are involved in something bad, it’s too dangerous for you to continue digging.”

“What?  Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m serious, Arella.  I’m not going to risk you getting hurt.”

She scoffed.  “You’re not going to risk me getting hurt?  You’re a number cruncher, what do you know about danger?”

“Oh, uh, um…I just mean…I’ll need to go to Chris and John and let them handle this.”

Her face froze for a moment and then she shook her head.  “What if they’re in on it?”

“Um, then, I should contact the police.”

“And do what?  Tell them you have information showing people making technically completely legal and legitimate money transactions that you obtained illegally?”

Shit.

“Jordan,” Arella scooted close again and took his hand in both of hers.  They looked tiny.  “Look, we don’t really know anything yet.  Going to the police or the execs right now would be a bad idea.  We should just take this knowledge, and…observe a little more.”

“Observe?”

“Yes.  Jordan, maybe you should stop digging.  Just do what Carpinelli and Klein asked you to do.”

“And you’re not going to stop digging?”

“I…”

She trailed off, her eyes searching his face again.  She licked her lips and Jordan’s eyes dropped to watch the movement.  Then she surged forward and kissed him.  He was surprised for about a second, and then he kissed her back, tongue plunging into her inviting mouth.  She slid her hands into his hair and he groaned softly as he leaned forward, tipping them back onto the couch.

“W-wait!” Arella said breathlessly.  “Not the couch.  Bedroom.”

Jordan didn’t argue.  He stood up and pulled her effortlessly off the couch and into his arms.  He walked toward the door he’d seen the white bed in earlier.

“Take your hair down,” he said.  “I don’t want to hurt you pulling on the rubber band.”

Arella worked the rubber band out of her hair and tossed it to the floor.  Despite being pulled up so messily, the locks cascaded smoothly down her shoulders.  Jordan entered the room and Arella reached out with a hand to close the door.  He placed her in the middle of the queen sized bed and got on top of her, pleased with her bitten moan of pleasure as he settled his weight on her.

“Okay?” he panted.

“Yes, God…”

Jordan kissed her again, his hands tangling in her hair to hold her still so that he could fully explore her mouth his tongue.  She squirmed under him and parted her legs, allowing him to settle between them.  Arella moved her hands to his sides and tugged on his T-shirt.  He sat up enough to pull it over his head and she wasted no time doing the same.

He couldn’t help the hungry groan and surge of arousal that made his already hard dick throb pleasantly when he saw her breasts.  They were firm and with pale pink nipples pulled tight and hard atop the full mounds.  They weren’t quite a handful for him, but they filled his palms when he gripped them gently, massaging them while he imitated the movement with his tongue against hers.  Her nails pulled down his back, the artificial top coat making them thick enough that they didn’t scratch him, just drove him insane.

Jordan pulled back to take a breath, and then kiss her cheek, her neck, and made her way down to her chest.  He grabbed at one breast with a hand while he sucked on the other.  Arella moaned and writhed under him, her fingers twisting in his hair.  He reluctantly left her breasts and moved lower, kissing and licking her soft skin.  She was so unbelievably soft, silky almost.  He let one of his hands disappear beneath her shorts.  She wore no underwear and his hand brushed through a trimmed bush, and then plunged into her hot, slick heat.

Arella cried out and arched against him.

“It’s okay, baby, I got you.”

He moved down swiftly, pulling her shorts off and over her smooth, perfect legs.  He tossed the shorts off the bed and then pressed his hands to her inner thighs, parting her legs farther.  He leaned over her and used his thumbs to part her lips.  He blew softly onto her and she mewled and squirmed.  He moved forward and covered her with his mouth.  Her hands were in his hair and her legs pulled up around his ears.

“Oh, God.  J-Jordan…”

Jordan ate her out enthusiastically, loving the feel of her slick covering his face, the sharp, musky taste of her.  He found her clit and sucked on it gently while his middle finger slid easily into her.  Her hips thrust up and he moved with her so that she wouldn’t break his nose.  That was a mood killer for sure.  Worst sex he’d ever had.

He moved his hand faster and sucked more aggressively on her clit, rubbing his erection against the corner of the bed as her keening gasps were affecting his groin like a physical touch.  Then she yanked sharply on his hair twice.

“Wait wait wait.”

Jordan lifted his head and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.  “What?”

“I like my first orgasm to be on a dick.  Numbers two through five can be oral if you like.  But get up here.”

Jordan chuckled as he backed off the bed to his feet.  He’d never been with someone who had her orgasms mapped out before.  But he wasn’t about to argue with her.  He unbuttoned his jeans and slid them and his boxers off in one go, awkwardly toeing out of his shoes so that he could step out of both.  He grabbed his wallet and extracted a condom before he stepped back toward the bed.  Arella’s eyes were wide as saucers as she stared at his groin.

“Damn…” she whispered.

“What?  You didn’t think I was proportional?” he asked with a cocky grin.

“No, not that, just…well...maybe.  Let me”

She reached her hands out for the condom and he let her take it.  He knelt on the bed and she sat up so that she could take his cock in her hands.  He looked enormous in her small hands.  She stroked him several times, seemingly becoming familiar with his length and girth.  She gave his balls a squeeze or two and then kissed the head.

“Alright, let’s do this,” she said with a grin and ripped the condom packet open.  Even with a magnum sized condom, quite a bit of the base was left uncovered, but it would do its job.  Arella lay back down and pulled Jordan on top of her.  They tried to kiss, but they were laughing with excitement.  Jordan put one hand under her knee and lifted her leg up and out.  He lined up with his other hand, and then pushed in.  He went slowly and Arella hummed and moaned nonstop as he sunk in inch by inch.

“Tachnis li…so big…”  Her hands held his biceps and he could feel them shaking.

“You okay?” he asked, gulping air.

She nodded.  “Yeah, I’m good.  Come on, Jordan, fuck me.”

Jordan rocked forward and they both groaned.  Then he pulled back and started a slow pace as much for his own struggle to last as his concern for her.  He built up in speed and her tight pussy stretched just enough for him to fuck into her with little resistance, the wet slap of their bodies joining challenged only by their harsh breathing.  When he knew he was close, he slid his hand down to her ass and pulled her up slightly.  The angle made his body make contact with her clit.  Arella started letting out small, delicate grunts that grew louder and less restrained and then she threw her head back and tried to temper her scream as much as possible.  Jordan felt her pulse around his cock and he came with a fantastically drawn out orgasm as he continued to pump in and out of her.  Eventually he slowed, and then came to stop.

Jordan panted hard, and was a little afraid to open his yes.  When he did he saw Arella looking up at him, her hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed, and eyes bright.  A fine sheen of sweat coated her heaving breasts and Jordan leaned down to lick between the valley they created.  He continued up her body until he reached her lips.  They kissed, but had to break it off too soon because they both were still trying to catch their breath.

Jordan managed to sit up and pulled out carefully.  Arella let out a small sound and put her hand between her legs when he was gone.  She massaged her fingers through her slick and watched him remove the condom and tie it off.  She spread her legs again and brought her hand up to her lips, sucking her glistening fingers into her mouth.  Jordan tossed the condom to the side, not caring where it landed.  He bent over and buried his face between her legs again.  She moaned around a laugh and one hand tangled in his hair.

“That’s it.  Good boy.  So good…”

**Wednesday, July 30, 2014**

 

Benson snorted awake as his cell phone rang.  Charlie yawned and grunted and then shifted against him, pushing him even closer to the edge of the bed.  He futilely pushed back at her and groggily reached around the nightstand for his phone.  He felt like he hadn’t even slept that long.  Wednesdays sucked.  He shut his eyes against the too bright screen and swiped his finger in what he hoped was the right place.  It stopped ringing, so he must have gotten it right.

“Hey, big boy,” he said, stifling a yawn.

“Uh…”

“Don’t shoot it down yet.  I kind of like it.  Hey, big boy,” he said in an affected sexy voice.

“Benson.”

Benson’s eyes flew open.  Not Oska.  He struggled to sit up.

“Uh.  Hello?  Who is this?”

“Jordan.”

Benson sighed in relief.  At least it hadn’t been his boss or whoever was working the command post that night.

“Uh, hey, Jay,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.  “Why are you calling at…” he glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand and instantly became irate.  “Four o’clock in the fucking morning?”

“Oh, God, you’re right.  I’m sorry.  I wasn’t even thinking.  I’ll let you go back to sleep.”

“Well, I’m awake now,” he grumped.

“Yeah, but it’s not really that important.  Go back to sleep.”

“It’s important enough that you’re awake at this time of night.  Morning.  Whatever.”

“That’s just because I just got home.”

“Just got home?  From where, work?”

“No, I was—”

“Were you out partying and getting laid on a Tuesday night?”

“Well, not partying…”

Benson was definitely awake now.  “But getting laid?  Who?  Oh my God!  You slept with Carpinelli.”

“What?!  No!  Fuck off!”

Benson laughed and settled back down into the pillows.  He nudged Charlie and she grunted and kicked her feet back, not budging an inch.

“So, Arella I’m guessing?  Unless…was it Ann?”

“No, it wasn’t Ann.  It was Arella.”

“Okay.  Good for you.  But really, you could have crowed about this at a more decent hour.”

“It’s nothing to crow about!  Benson…I’m…I can’t…I mean, is it rape?”

Benson blinked his eyes several times.  “What did you do, Jordan?”

“No, no, I don’t mean like I forced her.  Definitely didn’t force her.”  He cleared his throat.  “I just mean, she thought she was having sex with Jordan Bell.  A number cruncher from Pennsylvania.  She didn’t consent to having sex with _me_.”

“I don’t know, dude.  Not knowing someone’s name isn’t the same as not knowing the person.  She likes you, not your past, however made up it may be.  I mean, people—men and women alike—lie all the time to get people in bed.  And then they move on with life.  It’s not raping someone if you tell them you own a record label when you really work at Arby’s.”

Jordan chuckled.  “I guess not.  But, this feels different.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

Jordan sighed.  “I wanted it.  And so did she at the time.”

“Well, in my opinion, I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong.  But, if it bothers you that much, don’t do it again.”

“Yeah…”

“Jesus, Jordan, why did you call if you’ve already determined that you’re going to do it again?”

“Because I feel guilty.”

“Look, I can’t make you think about it differently if that’s how you feel—”

“No, not that.  I…”  Jordan paused, then let out a soft frustrated sound.  “I feel guilty about Ann.  Like, I feel like…I cheated on her.  I know we definitely ended things for good, but this is the first woman I’ve been with since Ann and I…it feels wrong.  Not during, of course.  Then it’s like…wow, Benson, seriously I’ve never had it quite so wild.  I mean it started out pretty typical but then rounds two and three were like—have you ever been deepthroated?” he ended with a whisper.

Benson snorted.  “Not to fuck and tell, but with more than one person.  It’s not that hard.”

Jordan was quiet for a moment and then he asked with a mix of awe and mild disgust in his voice, “Have _you_ done it?”

“Don’t ask me that.”

“Sorry.  Does Oska—nope, sorry.  Not asking.”

“Yes, Oska.  He’s very, very talented.  You want to talk about wild sex?  Let me tell you about some of my adventures with Oska.”

“No!  Why do you think I want to hear that?!”

“Why do you think I want to hear about you and Arella?”

“Because…you’re a guy.  Who likes girls.”

“So?  You’re like a kid brother, Jay.  I want to know about your sexual conquests up to a point.  You have passed that point.”

“Ah.”

“So.  Ann.  You didn’t call out her name in bed with Arella, did you?”

“No.  I didn’t even think about her until afterwards.  And the only reason why I think I thought about her at all is because she texted me today.  Or, yesterday.”

“What’d she say?”

“Letting me know that she knows that I’m ignoring her.”

Benson massaged his temple with his fingers.  It was too early for this kind of nonsense.  “Jordan.  Jordan.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want Ann?”

“What?”

“Do you love her, do you want her?  Yes or no?”

“I…I really don’t know.”

“Well figure it out, bud, because sex will never be good again unless you’re over her or…or with her.”

Jordan hummed sounding thoughtful.  “Well, the sex will be good.  Got that proven tonight.  Just the after part kind of sucks.”

“Whatever, dude.  Look, I’m going back to sleep.  We’ll deal with your crisis of conscience—on both points—later.”

“Okay.  Oh!  There is something else.  Arella—I mean I—shit.”

“Don’t tell me how, just tell me what,” Benson sighed.

“We found something out about those double deposits.  I won’t keep you up with it tonight.  I’m still pretty wired so I’ll write an email detailing everything and it’ll be waiting for you at work in the morning.”

“Okay.  Detailing the case, not the sex, right?”

“Tch.  Yes, the case.”

“Alright then, type away.  I’ll call you tomorrow after I’ve looked over it.”

“Great.  Thanks, Benson.  Goodnight.”

“Night, Jay.”

Benson put his phone back on the nightstand.  He slipped down to settle back into bed.  The dog kicked him again.  He shot her a glare in the dark.

 

 “Son of a bitch,” Ainsley said as he leaned over Benson’s back to be able to read Jordan’s email better.  “Routing numbers.  I don’t think I would have even thought to check those.”

“Well, fortunately, Jordan’s on his game.”

“Yeah…” Ainsley straightened and Benson turned his chair so that he could face him.  “This is weird though.  They’re stealing from themselves.  Why?”

"Well, like Jordan suggested, maybe to hide where the money is going.  It’s possible nobody even knows that they own those accounts.  I’m going to write up an affidavit to get the records on the account numbers subpoenaed.  Maybe we’ll find out that they belong to different people.  Or we’ll get some aliases to investigate that are involved in some shady dealings.”

“This case is getting crazy.  It was just run of the mill fraudulent securities, and then embezzling, and now…hidden bank accounts with unknown purposes.  You really picked a doozy for your first case back as primary investigator.”

“Tell me about it,” Benson said with a humorless laugh.  “After dealing with Little and all his bullshit, I just wanted a nice run of the mill white collar crime.  Who even knows what these people are up to?”

“Drugs,” Ainsley said matter-of-factly.  “It’s always drugs.”

“Usually,” Benson agreed.  “Did you ever find out anything about Podvodnik?”

“He’s Czech.  He came over here for business school in…1981, I think?...and managed to get a work visa when he graduated.  He’s a naturalized citizen now, fast tracked through marriage to an American.  They have a couple of kids.  He founded Potomac First about fifteen years ago and hasn’t had any problems with the Federal Reserve.  He’s never been audited by the IRS and he has no criminal record.  He donates quarterly to multiple charities including an animal shelter.  He seems pretty much on the up and up.  Maybe he just thinks Klein & Klein does a really good job."

“No way.  Six people are using his bank to hide money?  He knows about it.”

“Can we open a preliminary investigation on him?”

“Not yet.  We’d have to find a way to articulate how we know that he knows about the six other bank accounts being duplicates.  Right now it’s just a gut feeling.  We need to find a link between him and the clients other than the fact that they have bank accounts with him.  Now that we have their names, maybe we can run crosschecks and find something.  Can you take care of that while I do the paperwork for the subpoena?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“And throw in Flora Vasquez’s name too; I still think she’s involved somehow.”

“On it.”

Ainsley returned to his desk and Benson pulled up the pony his squad used when drafting affidavits.  It took more than a couple of hours to get it completed and signed off on, but he was able to get it filed at the courthouse not much past noon.  He picked up some fast food Tex-Mex on the short walk back to WFO from the courthouse and chowed down awkwardly on his burrito as he read through emails from Detective Darcy and Detective Tracy.

Tracy had discovered a series of unsolved missing persons cases that involved young men disappearing near the Texas Tech campus during the years Russ had been active.  There were over twenty, so he was having a couple of officers comb through them to see if they could identify any similarities or patterns.  He’d get back to Benson when he knew more.

Darcy was a little antsier and wanted to know when he was coming out to help them.  Benson had contacted the Portland Field Office, and a gotten slightly hostile response from them informing him under no uncertain terms that they didn’t want WFO taking over their case.  They were certain it wasn’t the Angel Slayer and they were closing in on a subject.  They weren’t forthcoming with any information, but Detective Darcy did give him the name of the primary suspect.  Benson would drop the name with Russ on Friday to see if he would pick it up.  Darcy also told him that they’d started dragging Lake Splendid, the large lake the Green Falls fed, despite the Portland office telling them it was a waste of time and they wouldn’t devote any of their own resources to the search.  So far the Green Falls PD’s lone underwater evidence recovery team member hadn’t come up with anything.  But it was a big lake.

He wondered if Russ had a thing for water.  Growing up on Lake Win—hell, whatever the name of that lake in New Hampshire had been—might have made him seek out similar settings for his kills.  The Potomac in DC, Lake Splendid in Green Falls.  Lubbock was basically a desert, but he supposed even Russ couldn’t pick a school based on being close to a body of water.  Should he start looking at any serial killings near large bodies of water?  That certainly wouldn’t be any less productive than talking to Russ.

Benson’s hand squeezed involuntarily when he thought about his inevitably continuing meetings with Russ.  His burrito overflowed and plopped onto his pants.

“God damn it.”

“What’s wrong?” Michelle, his squad’s SOS asked him.

“Russ made me get burrito on my pants,” he griped.

“Russ?” she asked, perplexed.  “The Angel Slayer?”

“Yes.”

“Got burrito on your pants?”

“Yes,” Benson said, side-eyeing her and daring her to contradict him.

“Oh.  Well.  He’s a dick then.”

“Yes, yes he is.”

“Benson!”

Benson started as Ainsley popped up behind the divide.

“Oh, sorry.  Didn’t mean to startle you.  I found an interesting connection among our six double dippers.  Well, not interesting, just a connection.  It’s not even an unusual one I guess, but—”

“Ainsley.  What is it?”

"They’re all benefactors to the same charity.  The Lilac House.  Their mission statement is like, to help children that are the victims of human trafficking.”

“Okay…so they support a good cause.”

“Yes, but it’s a connection.  They’re not just six random people who happen to have accounts in the same local bank that have weird transactions at the same local investment firm.”

“Yeah, I get it.  Is Flora Vasquez involved with the charity?”

“No.  But one of the platinum supporters is Klein & Klein.  And guess who is one of the founders?"

“Astonish me, Ainsley.”

“Radek Podvodnik.”

“Well.  Seems like everyone knows everyone.”

“Yep.  I mean, it’s not completely unreasonable.  They meet at the charity, they meet Podvodnik there and learn about Klein & Klein.  It makes sense that they’d have common ground.  Then again it also makes sense that if they were all doing something shady they’d need a cover for it.”

“Is the charity a front?”

“That’s what I’m looking into next.”

“Thanks for all the legwork.  I’ll call Jordan and tell him what you’ve found.  Maybe it’s time he started looking a little harder at what Carpinelli and Klein are up to.”

~~~

Jordan sat behind his desk, his elbows propped on the top, his hands covering his nose and mouth as his eyes jumped back and forth between Brock and Dylan as they lobbed barbed insults back and forth.

“You can’t even type sixty-five words per minute,” Brock said, throwing his hands in the air.  “You’re little more than a glorified stenographer.”

“Oh, that’s rich coming from a guy who booked a flight to fucking Georgia when your boss asked for tickets to Athens.  And you booked it economy.”

“Hey!  It was economy plus, alright?”

“Oh, my God,” Jordan muttered.

They started yelling over each other and Jordan didn’t even attempt to decipher what they were saying.  He was starting to wonder if Chris and John dropped little comments and remarks just to make them paranoid and to go after each other for their own amusement.  Kind of like the rich people who bet on how long the maids could hang from the curtain rods in _Rat Race_.  He was saved when the door to his office flew open and an angel with golden curls appeared in a flourish of fuchsia skirt suit.

“Hi, boys.  Sorry to interrupt, but you’re going to have to settle this yourselves or come back later because Mr. Bell and I here apparently have to go step by step through setting up his emergency contact page in his personnel file.”

Jordan made a face.  “Oh, sorry.  I really did mean to—”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say.  But if I’m here, you’ll have to actually do it.  So…Brock, Dylan—beat it.”

The personal assistants looked like they wanted to argue, but one look at Arella with her crossed arms and arched eyebrow had them meekly filing out the door.  Arella shut the door behind them and Jordan gave her a grateful smile.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

“I’m not rescuing you.  Your file is incomplete and we are going to finish it together, right now.”

“O-oh.”

“Also…” Arella trailed off and walked closer.  “I wanted to say hi.  I didn’t blow you off at work today, I promise.  Mr. Klein pulled me in for an impromptu meeting to talk about the kinds of calls I get on a weekly basis.”

Jordan tilted his head.  “Is that a weird thing to do?”

“I don’t think so.  He was asking questions like what the usual volume is, who calls most—potential clients or solicitors—what kinds of questions do they ask so they can update the FAQ on their website.”

“He oversees that himself?”

“I haven’t been here long but I think both Carpinelli and Klein take a personal interest in the company.  They even consult sometimes if the clients ask for it.”

“Really?  Didn’t know that.  So…they have influence over what the clients would do with their money.”

“Well, yeah.”

Jordan hummed.  “I just didn’t know what a CEO or president at an investment firm did.”

“Really?” Arella asked, her face doubtful.  “You’ve worked at other investment firms.”

Jordan’s heart thumped in a panic against his rib cage.  He was talking to Arella like she knew he was FBI.  “Uh, yeah, well, I mean…it was big investment firm.  The titles of CEO and president are just ways of legitimately taking money from the company.  They don’t really know how anything works; they’re too far removed from it.  I just meant the way a small company works.  One that is actually an investment firm and not a company’s whose business is swindling money.”

“Wow.  Bitter much?”

“You think I’m making more money here than I was at AIG?  I didn’t leave because it was a step up in my career.  It was all about saving my mortal soul.”

Arella laughed and walked around his desk so that she could lean against it right next to where he sat in his desk chair.  She dropped her eyes and fidgeted with her fingers.

“So, about last night…”

“Oh.”  Jordan sat up straight.  “I…um, do you want…I—I’m sorry—”

“Sorry?” Arella asked, her head coming up so she could look him in the eye.  “Did you…did you not…um.  Did you not like it?”

“What?  No, of course not!  I mean, no I didn’t not like it.  So, I did.  I guess I just, um…”

“Didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“Well…”

“That’s good!”

“It is?  I mean, it is!  It was just…a thing.  A fun night.”

“Exactly!  It was just two people, attracted to each other, so we had a good time.  It really didn’t matter, like, if we thought the other was like, marriage material.”

“Oh, no.  No, no.  It was like…we could have been two strangers.”

Arella put out a hand with a look of pleased surprise, like she was glad he thought the same thing.  “Yes!  That is it exactly.  It was like a one night stand, but with a guy that you still like to have lunch with and might not mind making it a two night stand.”

“Just what I was thinking,” Jordan said, feeling relief flood through his limbs and ease his guilt a bit.  “Um.  Two night stand?”

“Or three.  You know.  Whatever.”

“Yeah.  It’s whatever, right?  Just two people—it doesn’t matter who they are.”

“Well, it matters a little bit.”

Jordan’s eyes widened slightly.  Of course there was a catch.

“I’d be a little angry with you if you slept with Milana.”

“Milana?  In accounting?  Pass.”

“Glad to hear it.  Okay.  So…we’ve got that cleared up.  Let’s do your emergency contact info.”

“Oh…right.”

Arella turned around so that she could face his monitor.  “Come on, pull it up.  Do you even know how to get your personnel page?”

“Yes.”  _No_.

Arella rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.  “Okay, go to the shared drive and find the personnel database.  It’s the file marked ‘personnel.’”

“Don’t be snooty,” Jordan said, tweaking her side with his hand.  She gasped and flinched away with a giggle.

“Quit that.”

Jordan slowly navigated through the folders.  He wasn’t sure what he would put down.  He supposed could just make up a name and number, but it was a little too easy to check that.  He could put down Benson’s number, but should he use an alias for him?  Even if he used a different last name, Benson was such a unique name it would stand out if someone heard it associated with two different people.  It was possible that Benson was contacting people in the company through legitimate channels.  But if he gave him a completely false name, there was a good chance he’d be able to let him know before anyone potentially checked out the number.  But why would anyone do that?  The only people who would have access to it would be Arella and the medical office.  Was he just being paranoid because he did have something to hide that he assumed other people thought he did?

He typed in the password to access the database that would allow him to change his own information.  Before he entered any information, he pulled out his phone.

“I, uh, don’t have the number memorized,” he said, telling the truth.

“Isn’t that sad?  Like people used to remember dozens of numbers.  Now we know like, our own and that’s it.  If anyone ever had to call someone without their cell phone, they’d be screwed.”

“Pretty much.  Oh.”

Jordan saw that he had a text from Benson.

_J call as soon as you’re freee talk_

Jordan shook his head.  Benson sucked at typing.

“Oh, hey, Arella?  I, uh, have to make a phone call.  It’s important.”

“Okay.  Oh, now?  Oh…um, okay.  I can come back later.”

“I’ll make the edits, I promise.  I have some meetings this afternoon.  But, uh, I’ll see you on the way out and definitely we’ll do lunch tomorrow.  And maybe this weekend we can…be two people who hang out again.”

Arella smiled.  “I’d like that.  Hanging out on work nights is definitely too much for me to handle anymore.  I would have been asleep at my desk if I hadn’t basically had an intravenous drip of coffee.”

Jordan smiled.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” she sighed wistfully.

Jordan cocked his head.  “Oh, come on.  You’re not older than me; you’re not even thirty.”

Arella just gave him an unreadable, pleasant expression.  “Like I’m going to tell a stranger how old I am.”  She pointed a finger at him.  “Finish your personnel record.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, with a touch of attitude on the ma’am.

Arella gave him a playful glare and then took her leave.  Jordan ran a hand down his face.  He was probably the worst undercover agent in the history of ever.  He dialed Benson and sat back in his chair with a hand over his eyes.

“Hey, Jay,” Benson said, smacking sounds coming over the phone.

Jordan made a face.  “What are you eating?”

“Bu’ito.”

“Ah.  So, I’m answering your text.”

“Oh.  Mm.  Uh, ho’on.”

“Dude, you chew and I’ll take the time to tell you that I’m think I’m off the hook for the totally sketchy sleeping with someone under a false name thing.  Maybe.”

“’Eally?”

“Well, I talked to Arella today and she said that we shouldn’t make a big deal out of what happened last night.  That we were just like—two people who had a good time together.  Like a one stand that might probably be a two or three night stand.”

“Hmm.”  Jordan heard something being slurped through a straw.  “That’s weird.”

“Weird?  Really?  I just thought it meant that we were on the same page.  Like, we don’t want anything serious.”

“Well, if you were on the same page wouldn’t that mean that she’s not who she says she is either?”

“I…I guess.  So, since she didn’t mean that, I’m still the bad guy?”

“Maybe she did it mean it that way.  Maybe she’s married or something.”

“Oh.  I didn’t think of that.  She did say she needed a couple of hours to clean up before I came over.  Maybe she was hiding all of his stuff.”

“I don’t know how to do it tactfully, but I’d find out.  Sleeping with a married woman requires a certain amount of finesse.”

“Oh, Benson…you didn’t.”

“I didn’t know when we started, but by the time I found out it seemed like it was a moot point because it had already been happening for weeks.”

“Such a sleazeball.  I’m gonna tell Oska and he’s not gonna want to marry your cheating ass anymore.”

“I wasn’t the one cheating.  I didn’t have any responsibility to her husband.”

“Come on, do you really believe that?”

“Well, I broke it off a few days later, so what do you think?”

“I think I’d be more impressed if you’d broken it off immediately.”

“You don’t understand, Jay.  She was so hot.  Like, Angelina Jolie hot.”

“Well, I guess everyone gets one pass.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So, do you have some information for me?”

“Oh, yeah.  We found a connection among the six double dipping clients, the owner of Potomac First, and Klein & Klein.  They all support the same charity.  So, either they met there and networked which led to business deals, or they’re using the charity as a front.”

“Or to launder money,” Jordan suggested.

“Very possible.  I wanted to let you know so that one: you can tread more lightly around Carpinelli and Klein because we really don’t know what they might be involved in, and two: maybe you need to start digging into them a little bit more.”

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up.  I have a meeting with John in about an hour, and I was going to ask him about those six clients and the whole ‘fees taken out before returns come in’ thing, but maybe I shouldn’t let on that those six people have caught our eye.”

“Maybe not at this juncture.  Let’s feel it out a bit.”

“Will do.  This meeting will at least let me find out where Carpinelli’s office is.  I think I’m going to try to take a look around it tomorrow or Friday when he’s gone.”

“Be careful, alright?  If he’s really doing dirt, the fact that he knows you’re FBI will make him more dangerous if he catches you.”

“Don’t worry.  I’ll be careful.  I’ll send a report later of how our meeting today goes.”

“Great, thanks, Jay.  Keep up the good work.”

Jordan smiled to himself.  The praise from Benson meant a lot more to him than he thought it probably should, but he wasn’t just his friend and colleague.  He was someone he admired.  He was a brother now.  He wanted to make him proud.

“And Jordan?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t let him catch you diddling the receptionist.”

“What?!  I won’t!  We’d never do it in the office.  Sheesh.”

“Okay.”

“You and Oska never did anything at work, did you?”

“No.  We were consummate professionals.  Unless a quick blow job in an interview room counts…”

“I think it does.”

“Okay.  Then we were not consummate professionals five times.”

“Five—?!”  Jordan was speechless.  Damn.  He’d known Benson and Oska had been prolific during their two month acquaintance, but that was pretty impressive for people in their thirties.

**Thursday, July 31, 2014**

 

Jordan laughed as Arella described the antics of a pet dog she used to have when she was very young.  He wondered if perhaps “two people having fun” weren’t supposed to share childhood stories, but then he figured that “two people having fun” wouldn’t care about what they were “supposed” to do.  They were coming back from lunch and when they arrived at the lobby of Klein & Klein in the external elevators, they found John Carpinelli waiting when the doors opened.

They both sort of froze.  Jordan didn’t know why Arella did, but he felt a little bit like a teenager bringing his date home past curfew.  But John smiled pleasantly at them.

“Hello, Jordan.  Hello, Arella.  I’m happy to see my two newest employees are sticking together.  But I do hope the rest of the company is making you feel welcome.”

“Oh, very much, sir,” Arella said brightly, stepping off before the doors closed.  “We just both eat lunch later than everybody else, so we tend to go together.”

“Good.  You will let me know though if there’s any friction with any of your coworkers.  The one thing Chris and I can agree on is that everyone should have a comfortable working environment.”

“It is, sir.  I’m very happy here.”

Jordan stepped off and John stepped on.  “And you Jordan?”

“Yes, I’m…quite happy too.”

“Excellent.  And thank you for your report yesterday.  It was quite elucidating.”

Jordan nodded and the elevator closed.  Arella nudged him.

“Look at you getting private meetings with the boss.  Oh!  But, we already knew that, you go-getter, you.”

Jordan shot her an unhappy frown at the reminder of the rumors floating around about him.  She smiled and tapped his nose.

“See you later,” she said as she returned to her desk.

Jordan walked over to the internal elevator and hopped inside.  His finger hesitated over the button for his floor.  John was gone.  His office would be empty because Brock was taking a sick day, which he knew because Dylan had complained to him earlier that morning that he suspected Brock was given more leave than he.  Jordan pushed the button for the top floor.

When the elevator arrived, the hallway was empty.  The doors to Chris’s office and Dylan’s and Brock’s shared office were closed.  Jordan walked swiftly down to the end of the hallway and turned right.  The second door on the left was John’s office and it was much smaller than Chris’s.  It was still a large corner office with a lot of windows and a sitting area and a kitchenette, but it was closer to the size a of a small one bedroom apartment as opposed to an entire half of a building.  Jordan gave himself a five minute time limit and set to work.

He checked all of the desk drawers and found one of them locked.  He couldn’t locate a key for it in the desk, so he moved on to bookshelves.  Much like Chris, John had a lot of binders that appeared to have quarterly reports dating back several years and journal and articles on investing and accounting.  There was a door near the kitchenette and Jordan cracked it open.  It was a small closet full of boxes.  A few were labeled as containing the quarterly reports dating back nearly a decade.  Others were marked as old personnel files and employee and intern applications.  There were also a bunch of boxes labeled with what looked like the names of charitable foundations.  He stepped into the closet to read through them, and sure enough found one marked The Lilac House.  Jordan checked his watch; he was already at six minutes.  He opened the box anyway.

Inside were documents detailing Klein & Klein’s donations over the years starting in 2004.  They appeared to be mostly tax documents and records detailing how much was donated each year.  There were also a few pamphlets that related success stories of people the charity had helped rescue.  Tucked down one side there was a simple blue folder that only had two pockets on the inside.  Tucked into those pockets were lists of names, some of which Jordan recognized as being the double dippers, but there were a lot of other names as well.  They were all marked with various symbols that didn’t make any sense to Jordan.  Some of the names were circled, but only two of the double dippers.  Jordan took out his phone and snapped pictures of the five sheets.  Then he tucked the folder back into the box and put the lid back on it.

Jordan walked quietly over to the closet door and peeked outside.  The office was still empty and quiet.  Just as he was about to step out into it, the door to the office opened and Jordan leapt back into the closet.  He didn’t quite pull the door all the way shut, leaving a small crack, but he was worried to draw attention to it by making it move.

“Well, what did he say exactly?” the voice was angry and belonged to Chris Klein.  “You shouldn’t have had a meeting with him without me there.”  The door to the office slammed shut.  “This is my father’s company.  This is _my_ company.  I deserve to know what’s going on.”

“The simple matter,” John said, sounding calm, but irritated, “is that he had nothing to report.  He doesn’t know what’s going on either.”

“If the problem is those national securities, then why is he looking into the program the IT department set up?”

“I don’t know.  Maybe when those particular securities are tapped it sends out a virus or something and he thinks it came back to us.”

“A virus?  Jesus, John.  Why do you have this job?  A fraudulent security can’t house a virus that could be transmitted by investing in it.  Do you know anything about how investing works?”

“A sight more than you, Chris,” John snapped, his cool evaporating.

Jordan crept closer to the crack and peeked out.  He couldn’t see anyone.  They must be near John’s desk.

“Then why is he snooping around things that have nothing to do with fraud?  I’ve had employees coming up to me and asking if there’s something going on.  If we’re conducting an internal investigation because we suspect embezzling.  Embezzling, John!”

“I heard you the first time, Chris!”

“What does he suspect?  What did he say to you in the meeting?!”

“I told you!  He just said what he said before: that the national scam is what brought them here, but some things don’t add up and he’s just being thorough.”

“Thorough?  What does that mean?  They suspect something, John!  And you know what it is!”

“I told you I don’t!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“Well, that’s because you’re an entitled little shit.”

“Fuck you!  My inheritance has nothing to do with the fact that you’re keeping secrets!  I’m going to Jordan tomorrow and talking to him.  If he suspects you, I want to know!”

“God you are such a pain in the ass.  If you do that it will make him suspicious.”

Jordan’s brow creased.  Shit.  They were hiding something.

“John, I swear, if you’re jeopardizing my company—”

“It is not your company.”

“The hell it’s not!”

“Your father gave this company to me.”

“He did not!”

“And that includes everything that comes with it,” the man hissed.

A cold chill went down Jordan’s spine at John’s tone.  Every instinct in his body was telling him that John was dangerous and something was about to go horribly wrong.  He listened for Chris’s response, but all he heard was a muffled voice and some heavy breathing.  The sound of the paper tray on John’s desk scraping across the desk was followed by a loud crash as it and the lamp hit the floor.  Jordan bent down and removed the gun from his ankle holster.  He stood up and grabbed the doorknob, ready to yank it open.  He hesitated just long enough to crane his head to look out the crack in the door to get a sense of the situation so he didn’t jump out blind.  Fortunately that was enough to make him not go through with bursting out of the closet like a heroic savior.  His jaw dropped to the floor instead.

John was on top of Chris on the desk—but they weren’t fighting.  Well, not exactly.  They were kissing and pulling at each other’s clothes, but with a violence that he’d only seen in bad love scenes in action movies.

“I fucking hate you,” Chris gasped as he tilted his head back and let John kiss his neck.  He wrapped his legs around John’s waist and pulled him closer.

“You’re such a spoiled brat,” John muttered and pinched a nipple through Chris’s dress shirt.

Chris’s moan almost covered up the sound of a zipper being pulled down.  The whirring noise brought Jordan back to his senses and he ducked back farther into the closet.  He put his gun back in the holster and hunkered down with his brain coming up blank with ways to get out of this.  He reached out with a foot to shut the door so maybe at least he could block out some of the sounds, but the damn thing which had been so quiet before squeaked.  He pulled his foot back and went still.  Based on what he was hearing, neither of the two men having very aggressive hate sex in the next room heard it.

There was a momentary pause as they both breathed hard and keys jangled.  Then a drawer was pulled open.

“We-we don’t have time for that,” Chris panted.

“The hell we don’t.  Turn over.”

There was a thumping noise followed by Chris moaning in pleasure.  Jordan put his hands on his head, but didn’t quite cover his ears.  That would be ridiculous, right?

“Oh, fuck, John!  John!”

“Quiet down, you twit.  It’s just a finger.”

Jordan closed his eyes.  Holy shit.  A few minutes of thumping and groaning and whimpers later, Chris let out a noise that almost made Jordan laugh.  He put a hand over his mouth, and then his eyes went wide when he heard John say, “Pain in the ass, but you sure are fucking tight.”

Then the unmistakable, rhythmic sound of someone getting a good pounding filled the office.  Jordan sat still, listening to the wet slaps, the gasping breaths, the soft moans…and he did his best to ignore them and the programmed responses the sounds of sex induced in him.  Fortunately it was all over within a few minutes from that point and Jordan licked his dry lips at the sounds of John and Chris finishing.  He dropped his head to his knees as the whispering sounds of clothes being straightened made it through the door.  Something metallic clinked on the desk and Jordan assumed someone had picked up the lamp.

“Don’t think this distracted me,” Chris said, not sounding any less angry than he had before.

“Fine!  Go talk to Jordan.  Tell him you want to know what he’s investigating.  If he suspects you or me of embezzling from the company, do you think he would tell you?”

“He might if he just suspects you.”

“Get out of my office.”

There were some grumbling noises, and then heavy footsteps on the thick, expensive carpet.  The office door opened and shut.  Jordan could hear John arranging things on his desk and he wondered if he would be stuck here until John went home.  Sometimes he stayed until eight o’clock at night.  At least he’d eaten lunch.  Fortunately, about two minutes later, he heard the man huff and slam a door drawer shut.  Then his steps seemed to lead across the room.  The office door open and closed.  Jordan waited and listened to make sure John wasn’t going to come marching back in.  But if he’d gone to the bathroom, he wouldn’t be gone that long.  Jordan stood up and crept to the door.  He peeked out and turned his head as much as he could.  The office was empty.

Jordan opened the door, stepped outside, and jumped at least two feet in the air as he let out a high pitched shriek.  John stood right next to the door, rubbing his ear with a finger as he made a face of discomfort.  Jordan went absolutely still.  Maybe he couldn’t see him if he didn’t move.

“Jordan.”

“Um.  Hi…”

“What are you doing in the closet in my office?”

Jordan worked his mouth, his brain working furiously.  Finally, he figured he’d probably have a shot at saving face if he didn’t try to bullshit his way out of this.

“I was searching your office.”

“For what?”

Jordan inhaled, and then let it out slowly.  He knew Benson didn’t want them to know, but maybe the way John and Chris handled their responses to their suspicions would be a clue itself.

“We’ve discovered some discrepancies with the money transfers at Klein & Klein.  It appears to only involve six people, and they all have bank accounts at Potomac First.  It looks like money is being embezzled, or at the very least diverted to secret accounts.”

Jordan held back the charity connection.  He didn’t have to fuck everything up.

“I see,” John said.  “And you suspect Chris and I may be behind it?”

“We couldn’t rule it out.  But to be honest, it looks like the clients themselves are taking advantage of the money transfer program.”

“Should we be concerned about the program?”

“Perhaps, but it only involves six clients.  The other clients who have lost money were legitimate victims of the national fraudulent securities scam.”

“Should I be concerned about the woman who made this program for us?”

“Maybe.  We’re looking into it, so please don’t do anything rash.”

“Like?”

“Like fire her and scare her off.  We’re working the case.”

“Alright.  I’ll let you work.  Even if that means you have to investigate me, I suppose.”

Jordan dropped his eyes and cleared his throat.

“I apologize that you had to be party to one of the more…seedier aspects of Chris’s and my relationship.”

Jordan blushed.  The sight of them on the desk flashing before his eyes and the sounds echoing like a phantom in his ears.

“N-no…I apologize.  I should have just come out when…I was taken by surprise.”

“I can imagine.”  John stepped closer.  “Do you need any help coping with the situation?”

“Coping?  No, I—”  Jordan looked up and found John directly in front of him.  John’s hand grasped the remnants of his fading erection through his pants.

Jordan squeaked and pushed away.  John smirked at him.

“No!  I’m not…I’m fine!  Thank you.  I’ll go now.”

“You can use the bathroom up here if you need to,” John said in a blithe tone as Jordan hightailed it across the room.

“That won’t be necessary,” Jordan replied hastily.  He got his hand on the office doorknob.

“Oh, and Jordan?”

Jordan stopped and looked back.

“If you come in my office again without my explicit invitation or a search warrant…there will be a reckoning.”

Jordan swallowed.  “I understand.”

He pulled open the door and darted outside.  He made it to the elevators and could feel himself sweating.  He swiped a hand over his forehead and made a face as it came back soaking wet.  He slung the sweat onto the floor and jumped onto the elevator.  He hit the button for the lobby.

When the elevators arrived at the Klein & Klein front office he was grateful to find it empty.  He took a moment to get most of the sweat off his head and to straighten his hair.  He walked over to Arella’s desk and leaned on the counter, smiling down at her.

“Hey,” she said, smiling up at him.  “Couldn’t stay away?”

He shrugged.  “Pretty much.  Hey, so, you know that whole we should wait until the weekend thing?”

“Yeah…”

“How about we be two people who get together tonight?”

Arella tilted her head as she examined him.  Then she shrugged and smiled.  “Sure.  Your place or mine?”

~~~

Benson pushed the key fob to lock his car’s doors as he walked across the parking garage with a bag full of groceries.  There wasn’t anything for him, of course, it was all dog food and treats.  His dress shoes echoed dully in the heavy, concrete space.  Just before he reached the alcove with the elevators, a woman approached from the other side of the garage.

“Oh!  Hi, hi, I’m so glad you’re here.  Can you help me?  I’ve locked myself out of my car and I do not have a hanger on me.  Can I get one from you?”

She was short and very thin.  Her hair and eyes made her look Asian, but her skin was so sallow and sickly that he couldn’t be sure.  Her clothes looked old but clean, but her shoes were caked in dried mud.

“Um…a hanger?” he asked stupidly because he was so distracted by her odd appearance.

“Yes.  Like a wire hanger that I can use to stick in the seal of the window and pull the lock up.  I have an ancient car.  Seriously.  Not even from this millennium.”

“Oh, wow.  That is old.”

“I know.  I really ought to just bite the bullet and get a new car, one where it’s like impossible to lock yourself out of it.”  She laughed and her voice sounded thin.  “But I like not having a car payment.”

“I understand that.”

They stared at each other for a moment.

“So, do you have a hanger?” she repeated.

Benson figured that he probably had a wire hanger or the equivalent somewhere in his apartment, but something was creeping along his spine and telling him not to let her in his apartment.  Or to even let her wait on him to come back down.

“I’m sorry.  I have all plastic and wooden hangers.  It’s better for the clothes.”

“Oh.  Well, maybe you have something else?  We can take a look…”

“I don’t think I do.  You don’t have one in your apartment?”

“I don’t live here.  I was visiting a friend.  And we decided to go out to dinner but take separate cars rather than him having to drive me all the way back here after.  He’s already left, and I’m stuck here.  Can I—”

“I can lend you my phone.  And you can call him.”

“Oh!  Yes.  That will work.”

The woman started to walk into the alcove and Benson held out his cell phone.

“We’re underground, but the signal still works down here.”

Her eyes shifted.  “Oh.  Right.  Thanks.”

The woman took the phone and turned partly away from him as she dialed.  She put the phone to her ear and waited a few moments, and then handed it back to him.

“He’s not answering.”

“Is there someone else you’d like to call?”

“No, I’ve stolen enough of your time.  I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

“Okay.  If you’re sure.”

“I am.  Thank you.”

She turned and walked away from him and Benson hurried into the alcove and repeatedly pushed the up button.  This was ridiculous.  He was an FBI agent.  He should help a stranded woman get into her car or at least stay with her until she could get help.  But something had felt wrong.  He couldn’t pinpoint a reason or the exact feeling, but he didn’t want to stay near her and he certainly didn’t want to let her into the building or his apartment.

When he got to his floor he waited for several minutes outside of his door to see if she took the elevator up and followed him.  No one came and he felt like a rude fool.  He contemplated going back down again to check on her, but he could hear Charlie whimpering on the other side of the door.  She could probably tell that he was outside and was upset and confused because he wouldn’t come in.  He unlocked the door and found the dog had boldly come halfway across the room.  When she saw him she trotted over with her ears and tail down, but with a hopeful expression on her face.

“Hey, Charlie.  How are you?”  Benson dropped to one knee and scratched behind her ears with his free hand.  Her tail came out a bit and wagged.  "There’s my good girl.  You want a treat?  You want a puppy treat?”

She whined softly in the back of her throat.

“Yeah, I bet you do.  Let’s go.  Come on.”

Benson stood up and shut the door behind him.  He locked it and then threw the deadbolt, which he normally didn’t do until he was ready for bed.  As he opened the bag of dog treats, he pulled out his cell phone and called Oska.

“Hello?”

“Hey, big boy,” he said as he knelt to give Charlie a treat.

“Oh!  B-Benson.”

Benson straightened and dumped half the dog treats on the floor.  Charlie started to chow down happily.

“S-sorry.  This is Del.  Oska is changing clothes and asked me to grab the phone.  Um.  Here he is.”

“Hey, babe.”

Benson moved to sit at the kitchen table and let Charlie eat the treats.  He just wouldn’t give her dinner.

“Jesus.  I kind of like big boy, but it’s way too embarrassing to accidentally use it with someone else.”

“Eh, Del doesn’t mind.  Besides, how many times would that happen?”

“I said it to Jordan.  And my brother.”

“Okay, yeah…let’s find something a little less suggestive.  You’re calling a little early.  Is something up?”

“No.  No, not really.  I just wanted to talk to you.”

“What’s with the ‘not really?’”

“Ah.  Just…there was a woman in the parking garage who made me feel a little…”

“Careful how you finish that sentence,” Oska said, his voice flat.

“Oh, dude, no.  She was giving off creepy vibes.”

“Creepy vibes?”

“Yeah, like she didn’t say or do anything weird.  Exactly.  I just…felt…weird.”

“Nothing wrong with trusting your instincts.  Did she try to follow you?”

“No.  And I waited outside the apartment door a few minutes, but she never came up.”

“Well, okay.  Please don’t get serial murdered while I’m away.”

Benson’s brow creased and he moved his fingertip around the tabletop in a meaningless pattern.

“Are we ever going to be able to make offhand jokes like that?”

“Well, I just did.  Babe, I’ve got to run or the cafeteria will close and I’ll be SOL for dinner.”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“It’s okay.  I’ll call you when I get back at our usual time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“How’s Charlie?”

“Good.”  The dog was sitting near her bowl, watching him and occasionally glancing up at the open bag of treats on the countertop.  “Just fine, actually.”

“I’m glad to hear it.  Try to eat something unprocessed, okay?”

Benson let out a long-suffering sigh.  “Fine.”

“Good boy.”

A tingle rushed down his spine, completely erasing any lingering discomfort caused by the woman.  His groin tingled along with it.  He cleared his throat.

“Talk to you later, Oz.”

“Love you.”

“You too.”

Benson ended the call and set the phone on the table.  He looked at Charlie.

“Do you think Pizza Hut is unprocessed?”

 

**Friday, August 1, 2014**

 

“You’re out of your mind,” Benson stated firmly.  “There is no way in hell the prosecutors or the prison system or, fuck, me, are going to let you out of this place even for a few hours.”

Russ shrugged.  “Fine.  Then let him keep killing.  Did I tell you about the first one he did?  I read about it online.  They left some details out, but I can imagine them.  Like…the instrument they used to sodomize her wasn’t a spiked dildo.  Where would you even find one of those?  You’d have to make it and that’s tedious.  It was one of those cheap plastic drain snakes you can get at CVS for two-ninety-five for a pair.”  Russ giggled.  Well, that’s what I imagine could do that kind of tearing.  That guy must be sick.”

“Russ…I don’t doubt that your work in Green Falls was masterful.  No one is trying to belittle your reputation,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could cram into two sentences.  “But you’re not offering a name.  You’re offering a freaking storage unit.  Even if we could get a search warrant based on your word alone, which is doubtful, it’s not going to be under a true name.  If he’s better taught than Hannigan, he wouldn’t have touched anything in there without gloves.  What good will opening the storage unit do other than warn him off?”

“Well…it’s not just a work space.  I imagine it’s the trophy room.  It will show you every single victim he’d had.  Including the ones not on the police radar.”

“Formaldehyde ruins the tissues.”

“Well, it’s possible this fuck is dumb enough to put a picture of his kills next to every jar.  Along with other personal effects.”

Benson sat back in his chair, his eyes jumping over’s Russ’ face.  His beard had grown back in more, giving him that more than stubble but less than a beard look that was popular among young Hollywood actors at the moment.  He was an attractive man—one who probably hadn’t had any trouble luring in male or female victims or seducing his disciples.

“How many?”

“How many what?”

“How many have the Green Falls killers killed?”

Russ shrugged.

“How many would you estimate?” he asked between clenched teeth.

“Forty-seven.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words had slipped out of Michelson’s mouth.  Dean glanced at the guard, and he was staring at Russ with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.  Russ was smiling, seeming pretty damned pleased with himself.

“The Green Falls Killer has only been attributed with twenty-six kills,” Benson said.

“Hmm.  Yes, I guess technically almost half of them wouldn’t count in the eyes of the law.  The whole, it has to have at least taken one breath thing to count as being alive thing.”

“What?”

“Weren’t some of the female victims determined to be pregnant?  Why wouldn’t they all be?”

“Fuck this,” Michelson muttered.  He moved to knock on the interior door.  Another guard opened it.  “You stay in with him.  I’m not.”

The other guard looked on in surprise as Michelson walked past him, but he quickly entered the interview room and shut the door.  He stood by the wall and looked to Benson for guidance.  Benson ignored him.

“So, excluding the pregnancies, the number is twenty-six?”

“I’d guess more like thirty.  Like I said, there’s a chance there are some victims that the police don’t know about.”

“And all of this information would be in the storage unit.”

Russ leaned forward on the table.  “That, and I think this dumb fuck actually has all the information on his potentials list stored there.”

“Potentials list.  The people he’s currently stalking and planning on killing.”

Russ shrugged.  “You can’t do these things without a plan.”

That put a spin on things.  If there was a chance they could identify targeted victims, then that completely changed whether or not the risk of allowing a deranged psychopath to fly across country would even be considered.  If it was just to find bodies or confirm kills, they could live without that however much they’d like it.  But if there were people at that very moment being slated for death—almost anything was worth saving a life.

Benson shook his head.  “No.  Not good enough.  We need a name.”

“I’ll get you a name if you let me take you to the storage unit.”

Again, Benson shook his head.  “I’d be laughed out of the prosecutor’s office.  The Green Falls police and Portland FBI would refuse to take on the responsibility for you.”

“I wouldn’t try to run.”

“Forgive me if I don’t accept your word.”

“I’ve been very honest with you, Benson.  You caught me, so I conceded.”

“You’ve conceded nothing, you obstinate fuck.”

Russ laughed.  “I love how we share pet names.”

“Jesus,” Benson muttered and looked away with a hard eye roll.

“Come on, it can’t hurt to ask.  Worst case scenario they say no and you’re no worse off now than you were if you didn’t ask.”

“No, Russ, actually the worst case scenario is that they say yes.”

“You think they’d fly us first class?  Less people for me to potentially get my hands on.”  He wiggled his fingers the way someone saying, “Ooo, spooky,” would.

“Your ass will be in coach.  Next to an air marshal.  Not me.”

“You wouldn’t go?”

“I’d go.  I’m just not sitting next to you.”

“We’ll see.”

Benson considered him a moment longer.  “I’m not asking.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.  I hope nobody dies because you’re afraid of me.  Wouldn’t that be a kick in the head if a kill popped up a few days later?  A body you could have prevented.”

“You know the whole the United States Government doesn’t negotiate with terrorists thing?  There’s a reason for that.  And it applies to you too.”

“Yeah, but you know, sometimes they do play ball.”

“Russ, I’m leaving.  You better think of something useful and try to get someone here to email it to me because I’m not coming back next week.  I need a break and quite frankly the case I’m working on requires my full attention.”

Russ’ smug expression finally snapped.  “Ask the prosecutor.  Call the Green Falls police.  Ask if they want him.”

“No.  I don’t think I will.  See you in court.”

“Benson!” Russ screamed and tried to stand up but the cuffs on his ankles and wrists only let him get partway out of the seat.  The table shook and Russ' voice bounced off the walls and rang in Benson’s ears, causing him to start back in his seat.  The guard in the room was startled too.  He pulled out his nightstick and approached Russ.

“Sit down prisoner.  Sit down!”

The interior door opened and two other guards came into the room with batons drawn.  Russ kept his eyes on Benson, but lowered himself back into his seat.

“Just ask,” he said, feigning calmness.

Benson stood up and adjusted his tie.  He nodded to the guards and walked over to the exit.  He knocked on it and the rookie guard opened the door with wide eyes.

“What did you say to him?”

Benson shot him a look but didn’t reply.  He signed out and got his cell phones back.  He had no messages on his personal phone, but his work phone indicated he had a couple of emails.  He clumsily entered his password twice to get past the generic screen and into the secure one.  There was a traffic advisory for the Beltway and an email from Det. Darcy.  Apparently the Green Falls Killer had started sinking the bodies in Lake Splendid since Russ’ arrest.  They’d found three corpses which meant that not only had he continued, he’d increased his frequency.

Benson sat in his car in the parking lot of the prison for a long time.  The sky began to darken around him.  Finally he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.  He tapped on a name and stared at the phone for a minute before tapping the speaker button.  The sound of ringing filled the small space.

“State’s Attorney Office,” a young man’s voice said.

“Hi.  This Special Agent Benson Remick with the FBI.  I’d like to speak with USA Pak, please.”

“One moment.  I’ll see if he’s available.”

Thirty seconds later the line picked up.

“Agent Remick,” USA Pak said.  “I hope the reason for your call is good news.”

USA Ronald Pak had a bit of a baby face and a voice that was less than intimidating, but he lived up to his name in the courtroom and Benson had utmost confidence in him.

“Well, it’s a little bit of both.”

“Does it involve Russell Little?”

“It does.”

“Then I doubt there’s anything good about it.”  He sighed.  “Lay it on me.”

 

**Saturday, August 2, 2014**

 

Oska tied his shoelaces with the special double-tie but not a double-knot knot he’d learned as a kid.  They were running an exercise today and he didn’t want to worry about something so primary school as untied shoelaces while pretending to take down a drug den.  Nor did he want to have to pick at the knots when he got back and was dirty and exhausted.  He knew today could possibly be brutal physically and mentally depending on what they had planned for the NAT’s, but it was actually welcome after three straight weeks of classroom.

Someone knocked at the door and Oska hopped off the bed to answer it.  He hesitated before opening it.  He could only imagine who it might be after his ex-wife had found him and snuck in.  He swung the door open, expecting anything—and let out a small noise of surprise when he saw who it was.  He stepped forward into Benson’s arms and his fiancé wrapped him up tight.

“Oh, this is such an awesome surprise,” Oska murmured into Benson’s shoulder.

“I’m glad it’s a good one.”

“Always.”

Oska pulled back and cupped Benson’s jaw so that he could trace his cheekbone with his thumb.  He loved his face.

“Unfortunately your timing’s not so great.  I have an exercise today.”

“Oh.  Shit.  Sorry.  I should have called first.”

“No, I don’t mind.”  Oska smiled slyly and nudged their lower halves together.  “You just needed some, huh?”  He laughed at his poor attempt at a sexy voice.

Benson stared at him, face blank for a moment too long, and then he smiled.  “Yeah.  That was it.”  His hands stroked down Oska’s back.  “Woke up this morning and just…had to have you.”

Oska leaned forward and kissed his lips.  “I’m flattered.”  He checked his watch.  “Actually…we do have enough time for a blowjob.”  He gave his eyebrows a quick lift.  “Come in.”

Oska stepped back into the room and pulled on Benson’s wrist.  He resisted slightly.

“It’s okay, Oz.  You’re busy.”

“You’re turning me down?” Oska asked with an arched eyebrow.

The door eased shut behind them.  Benson shook his head.

“No, not turning you down.”

Oska grinned and turned to walk to the bed.  He grabbed his pillow and dropped it onto the floor, and then he positioned Benson on the bed.  He knelt on the pillow and made quick work of Benson’s belt and the fly of his jeans.  Benson was soft when he pulled him out, but even flaccid he was big.  Oska knew there was probably a term for this, but he could get hard just thinking about how both his hands couldn’t cover the thing and how wide his mouth stretched when he swallowed it and how fucking filled he was when Benson slid into him.  He was hard now as he stroked Benson’s soft penis, knowing what it would become.  He sucked the tip into his mouth and then took him all the way in.  He was still working on being able to take Benson in completely when he was hard, but soft he could swallow enough to almost get to his balls.

Oska was so focused on what Benson would be like when he got hard that it took him a little while to realize that Benson wasn’t getting hard.  He wasn’t completely soft anymore, but by now he should be fully erect and leaking.  Oska pulled his mouth off, but kept lightly stroking him with a hand as he looked up.  Benson was staring straight ahead, his hands balled into fists on his thighs rather than buried in Oska’s hair.

“Benson?”

Benson looked down at him.  “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.  Why?”

Oska looked down at Benson’s lap and back up.  Benson’s eyes looked down.

“Oh.  S-sorry.  I guess I’m a little tired.  And I kind of have to pee.”

Oska made a face and released his penis.  “Okay, babe, I love you and would love to try all kinds of kinky things with you, but I will never, ever be into watersports.”

“Oh, shit.  Sorry.  That’s not—neither am I.  This was the wrong time to bring it up.”

“You’re telling me,” Oska muttered, feeling his erection give a pathetically hopeful twitch that they might continue.  “But, when you gotta go, you gotta go.”

Oska carefully tucked Benson back in and zipped him up.  He stood up and kissed Benson on the lips.

“Come on.  I’ll take you to the bathroom.”

“I’m not a kindergartener who needs a buddy,” Benson grumbled.

“I know, precious.”  Oska kissed the top of his head and Benson swatted at him.

He got to his feet though and followed Oska out into the hallway.  Oska took his hand and swung it gently for the short walk to the end of the hall.  Benson seemed content to let Oska do what he wanted.  Inside the bathroom there were no urinals, only stalls, so Benson went into the middle one while Oska rinsed out his mouth in the sink.

“So, did you guys ever have to do the drug den take down?”  Benson didn’t respond.  “We have an event in Hogan’s Alley today where there’s supposedly a whole gang of drug dealers holed up in a residential neighborhood.  Did your class have to find the house or just plan the SWAT hit?”  He got no answer.  “Did you—”

“Oska!  I can’t pee with you yapping!”

Oska grinned and turned on the sink.  He waited quietly, letting the water run, and then Benson accompanied it.  Oska turned off the water.

“So, did you guys do the drug one?”

“Damn it, Oska.”

“You’re still peeing.  Relax.  Besides, married couples pee in front of each other all the time.”

“We’re not married yet,” he grumbled.

“Well, we’ve been living together for eight months.”

“Five, technically, because you've been gone for the last three.”

Oska rolled his eyes at himself in the mirror.

“I saw that,” Benson said.

“You saw nothing.”

Benson finished peeing and Oska said, “Remember, two shakes is hygienic, three or more is just jerking off.”

“Shut up.”

Oska grinned and turned around to lean on the sink.  He crossed his arms and his legs at the ankle.  The door to the bathroom opened and Del came inside.

“Oh, hey, Del.  I thought you had left already.”

“Hi.  Yeah, I had, but…” he walked over to the far sink and picked up a wristwatch.  “I left my watch.  So, are you ready for the exercise today?” he asked, slipping on the watch.  “I’m totally psyched.”

Oska smiled.  “Yeah, the scenario sounds challenging.  I hope I can keep up with you young’uns.”

Del smiled and rolled his eyes.  “Oh come on.  You’re fitter than everyone in our class.  I mean, your body is slammin’.  That flat stomach and those thighs…”

Oska raised an eyebrow and waited for Del to get his eyes above his neck.  When he did the young man blushed a pretty remarkable shade of red.

“Uh, well.  I’ll see you out there.”

Del walked quickly past him and out the door.  Oska watched the door slowly shut with amusement on his face.  The bathroom stall opened and Oska turned to see Benson come out with a powerful frowning pout on his face.

“Seriously?” Benson asked as he walked to a sink to wash his hands.

“He might have a little crush,” Oska said.

Benson’s frown increased.

“Come on, it’s harmless.  He’s like that cute little freshman who moons over the cool senior.”

“I’m sorry, by senior do you mean citizen?”

“I’m four years older than you, pal.  Don’t act like it’s a decade.”

Benson dried his hands on a paper towel and tossed it in the trash as he approached Oska.  He ran his hand through Oska’s hair.

“I’m not the one going grey, babe.”

“Fuck you,” Oska laughed and pushed Benson’s hand away.  Then he pulled it back and wrapped it around his neck.  He leaned into Benson and was glad his fiancé was smart enough to pull him in for a tight hug.

“Are you okay, Benson?  You seem like your mind is a million miles away.”

“No…not that far away at all.  I just…it’s nothing.  I just wanted to see you, and now I can’t.”

“You can.  The exercise is only supposed to last four or five hours.  You could wait.”

“There’s Charlie at home.”

“You could call Emma,” Oska suggested, burying his face in Benson’s neck.

“I could call Emma,” Benson agreed, his voice rumbling in his throat and buzzing against Oska’ face.

“Will you?”

“Yeah.  I’ll see if she can stop by.  I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

“Sure, love.”

Oska tightened his arms around Benson’s waist.  “I don’t think I like that one.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Are you sure you just can’t be more careful about big boy?”

“We’ll put it on the short list.”

Oska stood happily oblivious to the passage of time and life around him as he remained in Benson’s arms in a dormitory bathroom that had a bit of a funky smell to it.  Then Benson gave him a pat on the butt.

“Come on.  You can’t be late.”

Oska pulled back and took Benson’s face in his hands.  He gave him a deep, somewhat sloppy kiss, and then pulled back.  He patted Benson’s cheeks.  They returned to Oska’s room and he collected his stand-in service weapon, his badge, and his notes.  Then with one final kiss to Benson, he ran out of the dorm and out to Hogan’s Alley, arriving just early enough so as not to get any dirty looks.

The exercise was simple in theory.  They had a search warrant to execute on a known address, but the suspect’s family lived with him.  They were potential risks and hostages.  It was also possible that some of the suspect’s known associates may already be in the house or could show up unexpectedly.  Their mission was to arrest the suspect and find the fifty kilos of coke that their source told them had been delivered the night before.

“Okay.  We’re going to have to have three teams each working their own warrant.  Alpha Team you’ll be headed up by Lancaster.  Beta Team will be led by Mercer.  And Charlie Team will be under Brigham.  Leaders, come get your member lists, your suspect, your warrant, and assemble your teams.”

Oska waited to find out what team he was on, and Del nudged him.  He looked over at him.

“What?”

“Uh, Oska, I’m pretty sure you’re the leader of the Beta Team.”

“What?”

“He said Mercer.  That’s you, right?”

“Oh.  Yeah.”

Oska walked over to their instructor and accepted his folder.  Agent Cooper gave him a nod.

“I’m expecting you to wipe the floor with these pansy ass newbs.”

Oska half-smiled; like that wasn’t unnecessary pressure.  He took his team over to the sitting area outside the “café” and they sat down to discuss their plan of action.  One team departed for the neighborhood immediately and the other still stood in the parking lot, talking a little loudly for it to be “discussion” and not an “argument.”

Oska handed out the summary of information and let everyone skim through it with their own eyes to see what they picked up on.  He sighed as he looked at the neighborhood layout and the people potentially involved in the takedown.  The suspect’s mother, wife, and two young children were thought to be on the premises.

“This would be so much easier with police dogs,” Oska mused.

“You think we could ask for some?” Blum, the only woman on his team, asked.  “They always say if we think of something, we can always ask for it and if it’s feasible to supply it like in the field, they will.”

“Well, we already know the drugs are in the house.  What would we need a drug sniffing dog for?” Hillenbrand replied.

“Not all police dogs are drug detecting,” Oska said.  “And just because the drugs are known to be at the suspect’s residence doesn’t mean they’re in the house or somewhere easily searchable.  Regardless, I think dogs aren’t feasible at this point and we don’t want to waste the time asking about them because the instructor will more than likely take some time while he pretends to find out if they are.  I think we need to concentrate on finding a way to get the suspect’s family out of the house.  Any ideas?”

The group began throwing out ideas and Oska wrote them down.  He poked holes in their plans and encouraged them to think of solutions.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw an agent strolling down the street with a sign on his chest that said “Beta Team Grandmother.”

“Williams, with me,” Oska said and got up from the table.

Williams followed him immediately and his teammates watched them go up to the agent.

“Excuse me, ma’am?”

“Yes?” the agent replied.

“I’m Agent Mercer and this is Agent Williams with the FBI.”

“Oh, dear.  What brings you to the neighborhood?”

“Ma’am, is your son Beta Badguy?”

“Why, yes, he is.”

“Ma’am, we have an arrest warrant for your son and we will be entering his residence this afternoon to execute a search warrant.”

“Oh my!” the agent said, putting his hands to his cheeks.

Williams choked back a laugh.

“We know that your daughter-in-law and children are at home, and it would be safest if they left before we entered the residence.  We’re going to need you to call her and ask her to bring the children to meet you somewhere.”

“Oh, dear, you want me to betray my son?”

“Ma’am, this will happen with or without your cooperation.  But I know you love your grandchildren and wouldn’t want any harm to come to them.  Even if your son loves them, you know his friends are dangerous men.”

The agent deliberated for a moment.  “Alright.  I’ll help you.”

While the faux-grandmother was making a phone call, shots rang out in the model neighborhood, and the Charlie Team looked like they were finally looking over the details of the case.  While the Beta Team waited for the mother and kid proxies to leave the house, they planned their entry.  As the agents representing the mother and children of their bad guy came out of the house, the mother and children proxies of the Alpha team came out of their house with the suspect and his associates.  The wife was holding a card that said critical injury, and two associates and one of the kids held cards that said dead.  The Beta Team watched with relief as their family safely left the neighborhood.

After fanning out his team, Oska did checks with them over the radio.  They observed where the suspects and his associates were in the house through the windows, and Oska adjusted the plan accordingly.  In less than ten minutes from the family leaving the house, the Beta Team made their move.  All of the suspects were apprehended and cuffed within ninety seconds of first entry.  After their debriefing with the instructor on the pros and cons of their mission, with more of the former than the latter, he pulled Oska aside and patted him on the back.

“Well done, Mercer.  We run this scenario a lot and while we’ve had teams finish faster, we very rarely have a team that succeeds without firing a single shot.  That should be the goal of any operation.  It’s not really feasible of course, but having agents that have the patience and forethought to consider all possible angles and most importantly all possible outcomes is what makes this organization great.  You’re going to be one such agent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Alright.  You and your team have earned the rest of the day off.  Why don’t you grab some grub and some R&R?  I’ve got to go help with debriefing the Alpha Team.  Been a while since we had a team kill a civilian.”

Oska nodded and waited for the instructor to leave first.  Then he informed his team that they were free for the day.  Everyone suggested going to the Board Room for dinner to celebrate instead of getting the usual cafeteria food.  Oska made his apologies and fairly ran back to his dormitory.  Del was on the Charlie Team and they still hadn’t even gone into the neighborhood yet.  He and Benson should have time for at least one toss of the sheets before they had to worry about company.

When Oska opened the door to his dorm room he could sense immediately that it was empty, but he still looked around the small space anyway.  He spotted the note on his desk, but thought there was a chance Benson had just wrote it to tell him he’d run out to get some dinner since he didn’t know when Oska would be back.  He unfolded the paper and saw Benson’s neat handwriting.

 

_Hey big boy,_

_Sorry I had to leave.  I called the Allens and they said that Emma was out with friends to a movie and wouldn’t be back until late.  I took Charlie out before I left, but that was a few hours ago.  I had to go check on her; I know you understand.  I hope your exercise went well.  When my class did this one I was one of the team leaders.  I actually found the grandmother outside and got her to call the wife to take the kids out of the house.  Got the suspects arrested with no one getting hurt.  In four minutes.  Beat that._

_Anyway, call me when you get back.  I want to hear how it went and I’d love to have phone sex or phone_ (the next word was scratched out but Oska thought it said snuggles) _whatever with you.  I’m sure you did great._

_Love you._

_J_

 

Oska smiled as he read the note.  He flopped onto his bed and tried not to be disappointed and upset that Benson had left.  Charlie was their responsibility and her needs had to be seen to.  But he could have stayed and left later and Charlie would have been fine.  Then again, if he’d been on the Charlie Team, who knows how late he’d have gotten back?  Oska read the note again, and decided to call Benson after he’d showered.  He couldn’t wait to tell him that he’d completely smashed his four minute record.


	5. Week 5

**Monday, August 4, 2014**

Benson was a coward; there was no way around it.  He’d gone down to Quantico on Saturday to tell Oska that he’d set in motion the plans to cater to Russ Little’s demands.  That he and a USA were actually considering giving into his demands to “go on field trip” to Oregon.  He knew Russ wouldn’t agree to go unless Benson personally escorted him, and it was ridiculous to hope that Oska would be okay with that when he couldn’t even stand him interviewing the man in a controlled environment.  He thought if they could discuss it face to face he might have a chance to explain it, but he’d chickened out.

He’d felt guilty for feeling relieved when he found out that Emma couldn’t take care of Charlie.  It gave him an excuse to leave without having to see Oska again and lie to his face.  Well, not lie exactly, but hide secrets from him, which was just as bad.  He thought he’d managed to sound reasonably normal during their phone calls that night and on Sunday, and he’d justified continuing to hide the information with the excuse that there may be nothing to tell at all.  The notion could be completely rejected and Russ wouldn’t be allowed out.  Why should he upset Oska when he needed to concentrate on his classes for something that would never happen?  It seemed like reasonable logic.  But if that were true, why did he feel so shitty?

Benson nervously checked his messages and emails when he got to work, but he’d received no contact from Pak’s office.  Yet.  It was still early on a Monday morning though.  They’d talked so late on Friday that Pak probably wouldn’t even be able to get a hold of all the people he’d need to talk until today at the earliest.  Then there would be some hem hawing, a lot of debate and argument.  The Portland office and the Great Falls police would both have to be on board with the idea—it would probably take weeks to get everything sorted out.  Which meant weeks of lying to Oska.  Benson groaned and ran his hands down his face.

“What’s up?” Ainsley asked as he entered CR-2’s workspace.  “Were the subpoenas rejected?”

“The what?  Oh, right.  No, they went through.  They’ll be served sometime today and we’ll receive the bank account records probably tomorrow or Wednesday.”

“Good.  So, what’s with the groaning?”

Benson sighed and leaned back in his chair.  “Russ.  The Angel Slayer.  Who apparently is also the Green Falls Killer.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah.  Or at least he trained someone out there to kill.  He’s a little pissy that the guy changed tactics after he was arrested, so he’s willing to roll on him.”

“Well, that’s good.  Isn’t it?”

Benson made a noncommittal face.  “Yes and no.  If we can actually catch his disciple out there, that would be great because he’s sick and he’s killing a lot of people.  But, Russ won’t help unless he gets to personally take me out there and show me their secret lair.”

“They have a secret lair?”

“My words.  But really, it is that ridiculous.”

“Is that possible?  To take a prisoner across country to…help in an investigation?  I mean, I know on TV the police and FBI are always bringing in ex-cons to help catch the bad guys, but, we don’t really do that, do we?”

“Not really law enforcement, no.  But lawyers…they cut deals all the time.”

“Whoa, wait.  They wouldn’t let him go, would they?”

“No, no.  Nothing like that.  He’s not negotiating for reduced charges or less jail time.  He just wants to get out of prison for even a day.  He also probably wants to see the look of shock on his disciple’s face when he turns him in.”

“Nice guy,” Ainsley said with scoff.  “So, you’re worried he’d somehow…escape?  If he went on the trip?”

Benson shook his head.  “No, that’s not a real concern.  He’d be transferred through official transport, not civilian.  He wouldn’t be let out of his shackles to even take a piss and he’d stay in a heavily guarded holding cell at the Great Falls police department.  If possible we’d do the trip in one single day so he’d be back in his cell here in Virginia before lights out.”

“So, what’s the big concern?”

Benson squeezed the arm of his chair and Ainsley’s eyes flicked over to it, but he didn’t comment.

“I don’t want to go,” Benson said.

“At the risk of sounding like the super intelligent one here…So don’t go.”

Benson gave him a wry smile for his comment.  “He won’t go if I don’t go.”

“Why is he so obsessed with you?  I mean, I’m not saying you’re not great, you are, but what’s so special about you?”

Benson shrugged.  “It’s just a fixation.  I don’t think he even really knows why he’s so interested it.  He saw me when I was a green agent and working what I think are some of his favorite kills.  He remembers DC fondly and his personality is such that he ascribes everyone’s actions to be about him.  Because of him.  The fact that I went to Elton after all those years to track down the Angel Slayer made him think that I was obsessed with him.  Or that we share a connection.  He makes stuff up in his head; it’s how he justifies his killings.  He is a sexual sadist serial killer, but it’s not just because he finds it fun.  He does believe that he has legitimate reasons for choosing who his victims are.”

“Wow.  I knew the guy was a nut case, but he’s really not right in the head.”

“No, he’s not.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean he’s dumb.  And while I don’t think there’s any possible way he could escape, I can’t help thinking that there’s a reason why he chose this disciple.  This town.  At this time.  I just feel like there’s something he’s planning that I can’t see and I am extremely reluctant to do anything that is something he wants.  No matter how much good it might do.”

Ainsley lean-sat against Benson’s desk.  “Look, Benson, I obviously don’t know him and I’ve never dealt with him.  But I’ve read the news stories about the Green Falls Killer.  He’s…no one deserves that.  We swore an oath to protect people when we took this job.  I think if it can be done safely, anything is worth trying to save lives.”

Benson nodded, his eyes focused on the post-it note next to Ainsley on the desk.

“Well, technically we swore an oath to uphold and defend the constitution, not protect people.  But, to serve America in all capacities is our responsibility.”  Benson made a face.  “I just don’t want to be stuck with him all damn day long.”

“I don’t blame you.  But, hey, you’d only have to do it one way.”

“What do you mean?”

“He won’t go unless you do, but once you get the information from him that you need, you don’t need to give him what he wants anymore.  You can bail and make other people deal with bringing back.”

Benson nodded as he considered.  “That’s true.  It would piss him off to the point where he might refuse to help anymore, but I don’t think I could keep doing this anyway.  I might as well get one good catch out of him, and then sever all contact.”

“And it’s not just one good catch.  He gave you all three of the people who helped him in your original case.  You caught him and Hannigan in Elton.  You’ve completely solved the Angel Slayer murders.  That’s huge, Benson.  If you can also take out the Green Falls Killer and possibly bring some closure to the Lubbock Lady Killer murders, I think you’ve done more than just get ‘one good catch.’  You don’t owe the Bureau or the public your sanity.”

Benson nodded again, appreciating Ainsley’s words, but finding it hard to accept them.  “Thanks, Ainsley.  Though you know, technically, Jordan’s the one who figured out it was Russ from the evidence.  I just walked in on him being a nutjob.”

“That’s true.  Jordan is actually the hero of the Angel Slayer case.  Maybe you should tell Russ and he’ll transfer his obsession like The Ring.”

Ainsley laughed and Benson smiled and shook his head.

“It’s a thought, but I kind of like Jordan.  Wouldn’t want to screw him over like that.”

“Always keep your options open,” Ainsley said as he stood and patted Benson’s shoulder.  “I’ve got some work to do for Jake unless you need me for something.”

“No, you do what you need to do.  Until we get the bank account records, I’m not sure it would be wise to stumble blindly in a direction.  I’m just going to pester Jordan with texts until he tells me what’s gotten him so jumpy.  Something happened on Thursday but he’s acting all cagey about it.”

“Maybe he’s in too deep,” Ainsley suggested.  The brutal life of investment banking has changed him.  He’s not the same man anymore.”

Benson chuckled at the thought of Jordan showing up at work one day with his hair cut short and slicked back and a suit that cost more than his monthly salary at the Bureau.  It was like imagining a moose on ice skates.

~~~

Jordan entered the conference room about five minutes late, wincing slightly when the three occupants looked at him judgmentally from their seats at the long conference table.

“Sorry I’m late.  I got held up.”

He cleared his throat and joined Chris and John and a pretty woman in her 40’s at the far end of the room.  The woman stood up to shake his hand as John introduced her.

“Jordan, this is our lawyer, Samantha Preston.  Sam has been handling our legal affairs since Klein & Klein went public ten years ago.  Sam, this is Jordan Szustakowski with the FBI.  The employees know him as Jordan Bell and think he’s here doing a QC inspection of the office.”

“Nice to meet you, Agent,” Sam said and they both took a seat.

Jordan looked at John, a little surprised.

“I thought it best that our lawyer know exactly who she is talking to.”

“I would have liked to know four weeks ago when he came on board, John.  This is the kind of thing your employees could potentially sue over.”

“They all signed agreements that they have no expectation of privacy while working in the building.  Just like the government does to its employees.  Right, Jordan?”

“Well, it’s more to stop people from looking up porn at work, but yes.”

Jordan glanced over at Chris.  He was looking at him completely normally: no anger, no blushing, no glaring.  Perhaps John hadn’t told him that Jordan had listened to them going at it like deranged bunnies on his desk the week before.

“So, Jordan,” Sam said, her voice a smoky alto that made him feel at ease.  “What’s going on with the money transfer program?  I think John explained it wrong.”

John made a face at her, but didn’t contradict her verbally.  Jordan took the next several minutes to fill her in on the national securities fraud scam and how some of Klein & Klein investors had fallen prey to it.  He continued with explaining how they had discovered some discrepancies in the accounting process that seemed independent of the securities.  He did mention the six double dippers, but he left out the connection to the charity and the fact that the bank account numbers were the same, just with different routing numbers.  He wasn’t sure how to explain that one without exposing Arella.  He didn’t want to imply that the Bureau had hacked into Klein & Klein, and he wasn’t sure that they would buy that Flora had set him up with an all access account.

“Is it really so odd that these clients are having money sent to two bank accounts?  All six ‘double dippers’ as you call them all having accounts at the same local bank is a little odd, but that could be explainable by simple probability.  Also, a lot of people split up their investments.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.  These six clients also have the ‘pay fees in advance’ option checked off.  They’re the only ones that do.  And the money that they send to their private accounts and the one they use at Klein & Klein doesn’t add up to how much money should be coming in.  I’ve asked Flora Vasquez if there’s a way to see the missing fees being put into the company’s revenue, but she says the individual transactions can’t be monitored because it’s all stored up with the fees taken after the fact and then deposited to Klein & Klein.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Sam said.  “John, what the hell is this program?”

John gave a slight shrug of one shoulder.  “We were given a pitch for it—and it seemed like a good way to streamline and secure the transaction process.  A client focus group liked the new method better than the old.  Both the IT Department and the Security Team vetted it and gave it their approval.  Vasquez came to us with a list of recommendations as long as—Jordan’s leg.”

Sam smirked and Chris shot John a suspicious glare.

“So, we bought it.”

“What do mean ‘bought it’?” Jordan and Sam asked together.

“Vasquez developed the program and has sold it to many other investment firms around the country.  She comes on board for a couple of years to integrate the program and help work out the kinks and train others on how to manage the program when she leaves.  She’s more like a consultant than a true employee.”

“Have you determined if any of the other companies she used to work at have had similar discrepancies?” Sam asked Jordan.

“We didn’t know she was peddling her program across the country.  We knew about her long resume, but she implied in her interview that the program itself was fairly new technology.”

“So, we should fire her immediately and remove the program from our systems,” Chris said.

Sam tilted her head like she didn’t really disagree with him.

“I’m not sure that’s the best course of action right now," Jordan said.  "It’s entirely possible that the program is helping these six people skim off the top from Klein & Klein, but we suspect there’s a bigger plan in action.  For one thing, the six double dippers began making their transactions almost immediately upon Flora’s employment.  It doesn’t make sense that she’d been able to recruit people so quickly, and then never recruit anymore.  The six clients are also hiding the money in undeclared accounts.  When people don’t want anyone to know money actually exists, it usually means something is being bought on the black market.”

“Well, this took an interesting turn,” Sam said.  “What do you suggest my clients do?  Allow themselves to be embezzled from while the FBI conducts an investigation into a possibility?”

“To be fair, we don’t know that they are being embezzled from.  It’s possible that their goal is simply to mask where their own money is going, in which case, Klein & Klein isn’t the victim of a clearly articulated crime.”

“Believe me, agent.  I could articulate a crime against Flora Vasquez.”

“And I’m asking that Klein & Klein exercise patience and discretion.”

Sam stared him down for a long time and Jordan felt himself starting to waver under her scrutiny.  Finally she turned to Chris and John and put her hands out.

“It’s up to you.”

“Frankly I think the FBI has concluded its business here," Chris said.  "You found the fraudulent securities, for which we’re grateful, but we’re also being defrauded by a woman—”

“Possibly defrauded.  We have no proof that the program is actually skimming money.”

“Regardless, I think we should have the option to pull the program and terminate Vasquez’s employment as a private firm.  We have an obligation to our clients and letting them continue to be exposed to a potentially criminal enterprise involving large sums of money is irresponsible and frankly unethical.”

“You do have the option to do that,” Jordan said softly.  “I just wish you would take the other option.”

Chris opened his mouth, but John cut him off.

“Agent Szustakowski.  How strongly do you feel that something sinister is happening with these six clients?”

“That’s not a valid reason—!”

“Quiet,” John barked and Chris went rigid.

“As I said, people who hide their money usually have a criminal reason for doing so.”

“They’re trying to avoid taxes,” Chris said.  “That’s not a major crime.  That’s something you can pass on to the IRS for them to audit.”

“I don’t think it’s taxes,” Jordan said.

“But you don’t know,” Chris retorted.  “I think you’ve done your job and you need to return to the Bureau.”

Jordan watched Chris closely.  On the one hand he was young and inexperienced and desperately trying to exert control and influence over his own company.  It made sense that he would not want to hand that control over or potentially undermine his clients and his father’s legacy.  On the other hand, if he were aware of what those six clients were up to, now would be a good time to nip an FBI investigation in the bud.  Jordan looked at John.  John was examining him closely with cool blue eyes.

“I think we should allow Jordan to continue his investigation.”  Chris opened his mouth and John turned to him and gave him a sharp look.  “We’ll discuss it later,” he said in a low voice.

Chris’s mouth closed and the look on his face was pretty close to hatred.  Jordan wondered if “talk later” meant “fuck angrily.”  John looked at Sam.

“We’re not going to look into drawing up charges against Flora Vasquez at this time.  We will cooperate with the FBI completely until they can present us with solid evidence to continue their investigation or it becomes apparent that they’ve hit a dead end.  Jordan, do you anticipate needing to continue your undercover work here?”

It would be easier to continue his acquaintance with Arella if he remained undercover.  It wouldn’t make sense for him to continue to investigate the firm if he’d been fired.  He didn’t want Chris or John, or especially Sam, to know about Arella’s involvement though.

“I think it would help for me to stay on a little longer, if you would permit me to.  I’d like to speak with the brokers who most often handle the six double dippers' files and I may be able to glean more information from Flora as well.”

“Then it’s settled.  You’ll stay on as Jordan Bell and investigate from the inside.  We will get Sam to request an audit of our finances from our own financial institution.  Hopefully we’ll be able to find those missing fees.  I assume your partner has leads he’s working on?”

“Yes, he does.  We’re covering this from as many angles as possible.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that.  You can return to work now.  Sam, thank you so much for coming down for today’s meeting.”

“My pleasure, John.  Chris, it’s good to see you again.”

Chris gave a stiff nod of his head, but his expression was dark and preoccupied.  Jordan and Sam walked to the end of the conference room while Chris and John stayed behind.  Jordan held the door open for Sam.

“Jordan?”

Jordan looked back.

“Please make sure you close that door securely.”  John gave him a salacious smirk as he loosened his tie.

Jordan’s eyes went wide and he quickly turned around and walked out of the room.  He pulled the door shut behind him hard enough that the double doors rattled in the frames.  He glanced around and saw Sam down the hall, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow.  He turned back and tried to open the door again, but it was locked.  He was relieved, but also a little scandalized to think about what might be happening on the other side of that door right then.  This was like Oska and Benson levels of wild, slightly inappropriate sex.  Was this kind of thing common?  He’d never felt that kind of wildness with Ann.

Well, no, that wasn’t entirely true.  They just had taken a long winding path to admitting that they were dating, and then it was even longer before they slept together.  And when they did, it had been an extremely wild two weeks.  But then she’d had to go back to New Hampshire and they’d been unable to arrange their schedules for them to meet for over three months.  They had spoken every single day and had even had a couple interesting forays into Skype sex.  But then Ann had gotten her promotion, and promptly gotten rid of him like she’d just realized something was crawling on her shoulder and swatted it away.

But say they had managed to work things out.  Would they have had that kind of all-encompassing love or lust or whatever to want each other all the time even when they were pissed with each other?  Of course, maybe that was the only time Chris and John wanted each other.  He was probably lucky he didn’t have someone in his life that he was willing to have kinky office sex with.  That really was kind of crossing a line.

A line that Arella was clearly willing to cross.  After saying his goodbyes to Sam, Jordan had walked into his office and was accosted from the side.  Arella leapt into his arms and it was easy to catch her slight weight, but he still lost his balance and stumbled back into the door.  It slammed shut with a bang and Arella laughed as she kissed him.

“I haven’t seen you all day,” she said after letting his lower lip pull through her teeth.

“You saw me at lunch.  And in the break room this morning.  And when I said hi to you when I came in.”

“Okay…I haven’t kissed you all day.”

“Well, that’s not true anymore, now is it?”

Arella smiled and leaned down to kiss him again.  He carried her carefully over to his desk and felt around with one hand until he found his chair.  He sat and settled her into his lap.  She pulled back, but left one arm looped around his neck.

“So, what did you have to rush off from lunch so early for?”

“Is that why you’re really here?  To pump me for information?”

“You want me to pump you for something else?” she asked with an adorable grin that was incongruous with her suggestive words.

Jordan inhaled slowly and tried to ignore how she smelled like sugar and clean linen.  He was definitely at a crossroads here.  And he was going to take the very well-traveled path.

“Of course, but not here and not now, missy.”

“Missy,” Arella pouted.  “I haven’t been called missy since, well, ever I don’t think.”

Jordan shrugged.  Arella bounced in his lap and Jordan hissed softly, adjusting her so that she wasn’t sitting on his semi.

“Come onnnn.  Tell me something.  We haven’t done any investigating since Tuesday.”

“I don’t have anything else to tell.”

“You don’t have anything for me to look into?”

“No, definitely not.  Although, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to tell you that I learned today that Flora didn’t just work at all those companies on her resume, she sold her famous money transfer program to them all.”

“Really.  That’s interesting.  Did any of them report similar oddities in their transactions?”

“I don’t know yet.  I’m going to have—”  Jordan cut off.  He’d almost said he was going to have Benson look into it.  Then he’d have to explain Benson.  And why some other random dude was investigating.  God, he sucked at this.  “I’m going to have to look into it, but I just found out today.”

“I could do it.”

“No.  Thank you, but no.  You’ve done more than enough.”

“But—”

“I’m serious, Arella.  If John and Chris, or anyone for that matter, finds out what you’re doing, you’ll lose your job.  It’s not worth it.”

“Can’t I decide what’s worth risking my own job?”

“But why would you?”

Arella shrugged.  “What’s life if all you do is sit at a desk and answer phones?  There’s nothing wrong with doing exciting things.  I can always get another job.”

“Not if you get a bad recommendation.”

“Like I would ever list an employer who fired me on my job application.”  Arella gave him a “how stupid do you think I am?” look.

Jordan conceded with a shrug of his lips.  “Fair enough.  But, I still don’t want you to do anything more.  I’ve got it under control.  Besides, it may turn out to be nothing, so why take the risk for no pay off?”

“You’re determined to be a downer today, aren’t you?” Arella sighed, sliding out of his lap.

“I guess so.”

“Well, then, you do your work and I’ll…do mine.”

“Arella,” Jordan said, drawing her name out with a slight warning tone.

She smiled at him as she walked to the door.  “You can come over tonight and tell me to behave myself if you like.”

Jordan laughed and used one hand to partially cover his blushing face.  “Maybe I will.”

“Good.  See you later.”

Jordan’s smile grew bigger when she was gone and he shook his head.  What was he doing?  He started in a guilty fluster when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.  He fumbled the phone out and almost dropped it twice before getting it turned on.

“H-hello?”

“Jordan?  You okay?”

“Y-yeah.  Sorry.  I just ran for the phone.  It was…across the room.”

“Oh-kay,” Benson said sounding he didn’t really understand but he wasn’t about to ask for more details.  “Did you have the meeting with the lawyer?”

“Yep.  She had emailed me Klein & Klein’s legal records earlier to look through.  It was a very small file.  They’ve never been investigated by the SEC, they’ve never had a law suit brought against them.  There was a case that was settled out of the court, but the records on it are sealed.

“The meeting we had this afternoon, I guess, was for Chris and John to fill their lawyer in on who I am really am and what I’m doing here.”

“They told her you’re FBI?”

“Yeah.  But we all agreed, well John and I agreed and Sam, the lawyer, said she would do as we wished, that I should stay on here undercover.  Chris’s not happy about it, but I can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want me snooping around because he’s in on it or because he just wants this all to be over.  I’m going to talk with the brokers who have the six double dippers as their main clients and see if I can pick up on anything.  Is there anything from your end you think I should look into?”

“We’re still waiting on the subpoenaed bank account information.  Maybe ask if any of those six have suddenly decided to take an extended vacation.  There’s no way they wouldn’t know by now that attention has been drawn to those accounts.  Also, lean on Flora a bit.  Based on her residence history she doesn’t appear to have a lot of money.  It’s possible she's a pretty low man on the totem pole and will be happy to roll on the people above her if she thinks things are getting too hot.”

“Got it.  Oh, shit, right.  I almost forgot.”  Jordan filled Benson in on Flora’s enterprising history.  “If we could find out if this happened at other companies and there are clients there who have accounts with Potomac First, we might have enough to get search warrants for everyone involved.”

“I’ll get on that right away.  Hopefully the companies will be cooperative.”

**Tuesday, August 5, 2014**

 

The companies were not cooperative.  Benson thought that if the FBI called him and told him that he was potentially getting money embezzled from his company by a scam artist that he’d want to share a little information, but he’d been shut down across the board.  He’d spent all of yesterday afternoon (and part of the evening since the west coast businesses were still open) and all of Tuesday morning having metaphorical doors slammed in his face.  At best, two companies agreed to conduct an internal audit and then contact him if they found any discrepancies.  He supposed that was better than nothing.

He returned to Google and his search of any news articles talking about The Lilac House.  From what he could tell it was a totally legitimate charity with dozens of corporate sponsors and support from a lot of people both wealthy and of more modest means.  That was a point in Klein & Klein’s favor.  If the charity was just a front for money laundering, more than likely businesses like Volvo and Wal-Mart wouldn’t be listed on their website.  They also had their tax returns for the past five years posted.  He’d downloaded the PDFs and sent them to Ainsley to see if he could make heads or tails of them.  Benson had his strengths, but interpreting tax documents just wasn’t one of them.

He rubbed his face with a hand and then squished his mouth as he looked at his computer monitor, not sure where to go next.  He could try calling Vasquez’s former employers again; the squeaky wheel did get the grease after all.  Or he could work on a write up justifying opening preliminary investigations on the six double dippers, but he knew he barely had enough to justify the assessment he’d opened on them.  He could look up more honeymoon locations since he couldn’t really do anything until the subpoenas on the bank accounts went through.  He could work on trying to find a pattern or connection to the notations made next to The Lilac’s House’s donors’ names on the papers Jordan had found in Carpinelli’s office closet.  Yeah, he should probably work on that.

Benson clicked on the file that had the saved the attachments from Jordan in it and was about to open the first sheet when he saw Oska’s indicator turn green on the internal messenger.  He completely abandoned being productive in order to talk to him.  He still hadn’t told him about potentially having to take Russ to Oregon, but as far as he knew that wasn’t happening anyway.

_Hey, boo._

**Oh HALE no.**

Benson snickered softly as he could hear the exaggerated pronunciation of that phrase in his head.

_Just trying tomake you fell young_

**Then it should be “bae,” I believe.**

Benson’s brows drew together. _What the hell is a bae?  What are you up to?_

**Classroom stuff.  We’re researching interview techniques and methodologies.**

_Oh taht’s actually kind of fun  You practice on each ohter right?_

**Learn to type.**

_I can either type good or fuck good cant do both_

**Type well**

_You prefer typng?_

**NO**

_Tha’t shwat I thought_

**Anything going on with you?**

Benson hesitated with his fingers over the keys.  Now would be the time to mention that Russ was trying to manipulate people into letting him out of prison for a day.  All he’d have to do is phrase it like he was complaining that Russ was being a dumb asshat and that he’d brought it to the USA’s attention mostly as a joke.  Then it would be out there and he wouldn’t be hiding it and Oska might be irritated, but heck, he might find it amusing.  Yes, that was a good plan.

_Do you like snow?_

Benson leaned forward and heavily rested his face in one hand.  He was such a coward.

**Not really.  We got a lot in Elton and I grew up with it, but I’m not particularly fond of it.  I prefer beaches and tropics and warm water.**

_Yeah, well, you and your wife went to Palau_

The Lync chat indicated Oska was typing, and then stopped.  And then typing, and then stopped.  After a few moments the typing started again and finally a message came through.

**So?**

Clearly he had deleted a couple of responses before sending that.

_I just don’t want to go somethweew that is similar to where you wane tony uor honeymoon for our honeymoon_

**You’e planning iut hos neys?!**

Benson raised an eyebrow.

**You’re planning our honeymoon?**

_Did you not want to go on one?_

**I do!  Are you thinking like a cabin in the mountains?  Like there’ll be snow outside but who cares because we’ll be warm and toasty and sweaty and naked and stretched out on a bear skin rug in front of a roaring fire?**

Benson laughed out loud at the mental image that provided.  He glanced around but no one was really paying attention to him.

_Something like that._

**I love snow, baby.**

_Glad to hear it._

**Don’t go anywhere.  I want you to tell me more, but I’ve got to look something up for my group.  Hang on.**

Benson’s email pinged on the unclassified machine and he opened it while he waited for Oska to come back.  Three messages had come in within four minutes of each other.  It was a group conversation that he’d only been cc’ed on, so no one was waiting for his response.  Apparently Darcy and the Green Falls Police Department had gotten the Portland FBI on board with Russ coming out to show them the storage unit.  USA Pak was willing to let him go if they could plan a secure transfer and got the proper approvals.  Virginia wasn’t willing to pay for the private secure transfer, so they were in the process of asking Oregon and identifying a company that could do the job.

Benson bit his lip.  Things were progressing pretty quickly.  Of course, it still hadn’t been approved yet and was contingent upon finding a secure transport company that could be trusted and getting the funds to pay for it.  Money always held everything up.  He probably still had a couple of weeks before they had an answer, but since he was already talking with Oska maybe now would be the time to tell him that people were considering the possibility.

**I’m back.  So, where are we going?**

_I was looking at the Rockies near Denver.  Or up near Yellowstone._

**When?**

_It will depend on our schdueles but in winter like december or january_

**There’ll be snow as early as October, right?**

_Maybe_

**Then why wait?  We’re getting married in August.**

_I don’t’ want to sit in front of a roaring fire in august  even in the mountains_

**Yeah, but it’ll be cold in October…**

_The trial starts in October_

**Fuck Russell Little for being a menace even in prison!  Fine.  Anticipation is a good thing.  Maybe we should not have sex from the wedding day until the honeymoon night.**

_Ill divorce you_

Oska sent him a smug, grinning emoji face

**Okay, we’ve got to go practice our interviewing skills.  I’ll talk to you later.  Love ya!**

He hadn’t told Oska about Russ.  He furiously began to type a quick explanation, knowing it was so full of typos it might be illegible.  By the time he fixed most of them and hit send, he received a message that the user was offline and would not receive the message.

“Of course,” he muttered.

He sat back in his chair and wondered if he had done that subconsciously.  No, it had been done consciously, and it was unacceptable.  He was committing himself to someone with lawfully binding marriage.  Not to mention emotionally binding need.  Lying to him was disrespectful and a downright shitty thing to do.  He started drafting an email, and then thought he’d better tell him “in person.”  He’d do it during their evening call.

His office phone rang and he let it go three times before answering.  No sense in appearing to have nothing to do since it was probably a supervisor calling.

“This is Benson.”

“Uh, hello.  Agent Remick?”

“Yes, this is he.”

“Hi.  My name is David Roberts.  I’m calling from Harbinger Hargrove in Mesa.”

Benson recognized the name of one of the companies Vasquez had worked for, but he didn’t recognize the person.

“Hello, Mr. Roberts.  What can I do for you?”

“Well, I received a request from my supervisor to conduct an audit of our system from June 2007 to April 2009 looking for accounts that had deposits made into two accounts.  I thought it was a little odd since most of the clients deposit into a savings account and a checking account or into an internal account for reinvesting.”

“Oh, well, we were looking specifically for deposits made into what looked like the same account twice.”

“Yes, I was able finally to pull that out of him.  We had five clients who did that on a pretty regular schedule of twice a month.  And I noticed right away that even though the bank account numbers were the same, the routing numbers were different.”

Benson sat up straight.  “Yes, that’s what we were looking for.  Can you give me the routing number?”

“I can, but I can also tell you the bank.  It’s called Salt River First.”

“Hm.  So not Potomac First?”

“No.  All of our clients use national banks or local banks.  I don’t think Potomac First is out here.”

“It’s not.  So, Salt River Bank is a local bank.  Do they have multiple branches in the area or in the southwest?”

“No.  As far as I know they only have one location.”

“Did you ever know Flora Vasquez?”

“I’m not familiar with the name.”

“She’s the IT specialist who designed the new money transfer program you use.”

“Oh.  I’ve only been here for a few months.  So, this program is all I’ve worked with.  I didn’t know it was new.”

“Well, new-ish.  She would have implemented it 2007.”

“Gotcha.   I take it she worked here between June 2007 and April 2009?”

“That’s correct.”

“See, that’s why I didn’t connect right away what was so special about that time frame.  Because I went ahead and checked more recent records, and there are now eight clients that do the double deposits into their regular account and into Salt River First.”

Benson’s brow furrowed in thought.  That was ballsy to keep skimming money from a company once you’d moved on.  Or perhaps this was the best proof yet that the clients were the ones doing the real crime and had hired Vasquez simply to provide them with the method.

“Um, I don’t know if this is relevant,” David continued, trailing off a little nervously.

“Please, tell me anything you know.”

“Well, I told you I’ve only been here a few months, right?  Well, when I came on I went through all the accounts to delete the inactive ones and to clean up the active ones.  I noticed that a few accounts had the ‘process fees before transfer’ option checked.  That didn’t make any sense because Harbinger’s cut can’t be calculated if the returns aren’t sorted by type.  They charge different fees depending on the type of security.  Also, I wasn’t seeing these fees in Harbinger’s records, so I figured the button must not be doing anything anyway, so I unchecked them all.

“A couple of weeks later, a little bit after the double deposits would have been made, I got called into my boss’ office and reamed out by my supervisor because he had been reamed out by the brokers and execs who had received complaints from clients that changes were made to their accounts without permission.  Everyone was just so worried about the clients being irate that they didn’t want to hear why I had changed something, they just wanted me to change it back.  So, I checked those eight accounts back to the ‘process fee before transfer’ status.

“At the time I thought it was weird and suspicious.  And now, I think that button must somehow be diverting money from the returns before it gets to where we would see it so that we never see how much comes back.  Only what the program shows us.  So, the money that goes into the two accounts doesn’t add up to the return amounts listed by the securities themselves.”

Benson nodded out of habit.  “That’s pretty much what we’ve found out here.  Do you think you could provide me with a list of the clients that double deposit?”

“Um, well…I-I would have to ask my supervisor.  I don’t know if that’s something we can hand over without, like, a warrant?  Do you know?”

“A warrant is one way.  But the president or CEO of the company has the discretion to release his own client list.”

“Oh.  I couldn’t ask…I’m still on probation from the whole unchecking thing—”

“It’s okay,” Benson said.  “Don’t worry about it.  Your information has been very helpful.  If we need to get those names, we’ll go about it through legal channels and leave you out of it.”

“Thank you.  Uh.  Sir.”

“Thank you for doing the audit.  Have a good day, Mr. Roberts.”

“You too.  Bye.”

Benson hung up and tapped a pen against his lips.  Obviously whatever was going on at Klein & Klein was happening at other firms.  Of course, that could have just been an indication that the program worked the same way everywhere, so that was just how it worked.  But Harbinger Hargrove’s numbers weren’t adding up either and the money was going to another local bank, not amalgamating somewhere.

“Hey, Ainsley?”

“Yo.”

“Did you find in your research on Podvodnik that he owned more than one bank?”

“No.  Just Potomac First.”  His head popped up over the divide.  “Why?”

“It seems like the same odd accounting is happening in other companies Vasquez worked for.  Well, at least one.  But the money is going to a local bank out there called Salt River First.  And if it’s not his bank, then we don’t have a link other than Vasquez.”

“Hmm.”  Ainsley looked to the right while he thought for a moment.  “Can you send me the list of cities where she used to work again?  I’m going to see if those cities have small single branch banks named after the nearest river.”

Benson let out a small disbelieving laugh.  “Ainsley, I appreciate it, but you’re way too busy to go looking for a needle in a haystack.”

“Actually Google’ll do most of the work.  And I don’t mind.  I finished with reviewing the tax documents and I really don’t want to go back to Jake's project.  It’s boring.”

“And this one isn’t?”

“Dude, there is something fishy going on here.  I’ve got this feeling that we’ve stumbled onto something kind of huge.”

“You think so?” Benson half asked Ainsley, half asked himself.

“Well, I don’t know.  Maybe.  Maybe it’s just boring ol’ embezzling.  But, if Vasquez is doing it by installing parasitic software in investment firms all across the country, that’s still pretty cool.”

“That is true.”

“Oh.  One more thing.  The tax documents for the charity.  They’re good.  Totally legit.  No way are they laundering money.  I mean, even if they use Potomac First as their bank, which I don’t know that they do, everything is accounted for.

“I did find something a little too coincidental, but not really.  They have three addresses listed for their physical holdings.  One is their office, one is the temporary housing they have for rescued victims, and the third is for an animal shelter.  The same one Podvodnik donates to.”

Benson tilted his head.  “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“I thought it was.  So, I searched around their website and apparently in 2005 when they went down to help the kids orphaned by Katrina not be taken advantage of, the coordinators felt really sorry for all the abandoned dogs too.  So, they collected strays and tried to find their owners.  The ones they couldn’t find owners for they brought back up here and adopted out to local families.  They say the shelter is currently empty, but they kept the property in case they ever need it again.  I checked and Podvodnik only made a onetime donation to it, so I guess The Lilac House must have hit up their higher level patrons for a little startup capital.”

“Hm.  Good work, Ainsley.”

“Yeah, I just wish I could find a smoking gun or something.”

“Well, we don’t want it to be too easy, do we?”  Benson smiled and gave him a wink.

Ainsley grinned.  “Don’t try to flirt with me now.  My feelings are already hurt.”

Benson rolled his eyes.  “Go away.  Find some banks.”

Ainsley snickered and disappeared back behind the divide.

~~~

Jordan drew a line from a name that had two asterisks and a circle next to it to a name with similar markings on a third sheet of paper.  He had printed out the pictures he’d taken with his phone of The Lilac House documents squirreled away in John’s closet.  Then he’d taped them all together and had used his alone time in his office to draw colored lines between names, trying to detect a rhyme or reason to the marks.  His cell phone sat above the line of papers on speaker mode.

“I’m looking at the donation levels on the website,” Benson’s voice said over the phone.  “Our ‘the check marks mean gold level donors’ is busted.”

“Well, what if this list is old?  Someone could have upgraded or downgraded.”

“No, it’s too sporadic.  Wait, wait, do all of the Pellmans have X’s by them?”

“Uh…”  Jordan scanned the sheet.  “Ye—no.  Regina Pellman does not.”

“Regina, Regina, Regina…ah.  Hm.  She’s literally the only person on the list with no marks next to her name.  So, we still have three people who have the same marks as our known double dippers, and a couple that have the same but are missing one or have an additional one.”

“Yep.  Are they in the same order?  Like, Phil has a check, an asterisk, a double X; Lionel has a check, an asterisk, a double X, but…crap.  Which page is Deborah on?”

“Um, I think the first…she’s asterisk, double X, check.  And her name is crossed out.  Crap.”  Benson sighed.  “Maybe these marks don’t mean anything."

“That is a real possibility.  Maybe it’s just a check list of who showed up to the meetings and they used a different mark to take attendance each time.  I wish there was any easier way to track who had what next to their name.  These lines are ridiculous.”

“Oh, Jesus.”

“What?” Jordan asked.

“We’re morons.  Open an Excel spreadsheet.  Put the names down the rows and the type of marks across the columns.  Then type in yes or no in the cells.  Then we can filter to the yeses and see if the same people keep popping up or if getting one mark cancels out another.”

“Ah.  You mean utilize technology like competent investigators?”  Jordan asked with a smile.  “I’m on it.  I’ll email it to you when I’m done.”

“Okay.  You know, I don’t know if it’s a good idea or a bad idea, but you could always ask Carpinelli about it.”

“And let him know I was snooping in his office?”

“I thought he already knew that.  Or has the ordeal traumatized you and you’re trying to repress the memory?”

“It’s not funny, Benson.  I _was_ traumatized.  It was bad enough listening to two people who hate each other use sex to hurt each other, but…” he leaned close to his phone and whispered, “it’s messed up that it was kind of hot.”

Benson just laughed.  “And Jordan’s latent homosexuality rears its sparkly, rainbow head.”

“I do not have any latent homosexuality.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Of course not.”  Benson chuckled again.  “Anyway, it’s up to you.  But, maybe he knows something.”

“Yeah, they are his records.  Do you—”

The door to his office swung open and Arella let herself inside, closing and locking the door.

“Uh…Arella.  Hi.”  Jordan reached for his phone to turn it off but Arella pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t touch that!”

He froze.  Shit.  Did she know something?  Know what?  Arella crossed the small room and turned his office chair so he was facing her.  Then she crawled onto his lap, circled his neck with her arms, and kissed him.  When she pulled back, she smiled and wiped underneath his bottom lip with her thumb.  She’d probably smeared her red lipstick on him.

“Don’t even think about looking at that phone or work for at least the next five minutes.”

Jordan couldn’t stop himself from looking at the phone.  Maybe Benson had disconnected?

“I said,” Arella said, pulling his head back around.  “Don’t even think about it.”

She kissed him again and Jordan spared a glance at the phone, trying to determine if he could tell if the call was still active.  Arella was persistent though and his attention was easily diverted.  He put his hands to her waist and pulled her closer.  They made out for a good five minutes, Arella keeping herself far enough back on his lap that they weren’t grinding, but Jordan was still rock hard.  When Arella finally pulled back and wiped her lipstick off his mouth again, his lips felt tingly and his body was warm and relaxed.  Except his dick which was twitching desperately in his boxers.

“Mm, thanks, Jordan.”

“You’re welcome?” he said with a confused laugh.

“So, I’ve got a thing at my apartment starting tomorrow.  The building manager is painting the whole place and the fumes will be unbearable.  But, it’s still good tonight.  If you want to come over.”

Jordan nodded, and then swallowed.  “Yes.  Yes, I’d like to come.  Over.”

“Good.  How about after work you take me to dinner, and then we’ll go back to my place?”

“Sure.”

“I won’t even make you give me any investigation secrets to further my PI career.”

Jordan let out an uneasy laugh and glanced at his phone.  Arella didn’t seem to notice and slid off his lap.

“Okay, then.  Back to work.  I’ll see you at closing time.”

“Sounds good.”

He gave her a little wave as she unlocked the door and then slipped outside.  Jordan sat in his chair, listening for any noise.  He turned back to the desk.

“Benson?” he asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, stud?”

“Geezus.”  Jordan let his head fall into the cushion of his arms on the desk.  “Were you listening the whole time?”

“No.  I put the phone down and occasionally checked back in.  I was really afraid of what noises I was going to start hearing, but apparently you have more decorum than your faux-bosses.”

Jordan groaned.  “Make fun all you like, but we’re still not anywhere even for all the crap I had to listen to in Elton.”

“Fair point.  But, uh, what did she mean you don’t have to give her any secrets for her PI career?”

Jordan sat up and rubbed his forehead.  “Nothing.  On our first date is when she gave me the info about Flora Vasquez.  I told her not to do anything because she could get fired if John or Chris or anyone found out.  She just joked that she’d start a new career as a PI.  It’s kind of been a running joke.  Especially after she figured out the whole routing numbers thing.”

Jordan sucked in a sharp breath, realizing his mistake way too late.  Maybe Benson didn’t pick up on it.

“Arella is the one who figured out the routing numbers were different?”

Benson picked up on it.

“Um.  Yeah.”

“Jordan…how much does she know?  Does she know you’re a fed?”

“No, no.  She just thinks that I was hired by Chris and John not to do QC, but to try to find out if people were embezzling from them without their employees knowing they were investigating them.  I think she just thinks it’s fun.  Or even a game.  I don’t think she thinks there’s anything really serious going on.”

“Did you tell her to do this?  I got the subpoenas based on that information.  If it was illegally obtained, I have to go to the courthouse now and stop them from being processed.  If it’s not already too late.”

“No, no, the subpoenas should be fine.  She just accessed the money transfer program.  I told her not to access anything she didn’t have permission to get into.  But honestly, I think she hacked it a little bit.  So, it’s definitely nothing I directed her to do.  I didn’t even know she had those skills.”

“Has she done anything else?”

“No.  Nothing.  I’ve told her to stop and that I wouldn’t accept anything from her if she did.  She was a little disappointed, but she hasn’t forced the issue.”

Jordan gnawed on his lip nervously as Benson mulled over this news.

“You’re walking a razor’s edge here, man, and if you slip—it’s not going to be pleasant when you fall.”

“I know.”

“I mean here, at the Bureau.  I’ll back you up.  But, maybe you ought to start putting a little distance between you.  She helped you start to get over Ann, so maybe you need to let it go before it becomes something more.”

Jordan nodded his head, and then realized he needed to speak.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I know.  And don’t worry: I promise I won’t let her get more involved or ask her to do anything.”

“Okay.  And hey, man.  It’s okay.  I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong.”

“Thanks.”  Jordan wasn’t sure about that.  “I’ll work on the spreadsheet and email it to you later.”

“Okay.  Talk later.”

Jordan hung up and exhaled heavily.  He put Arella out of his mind and printed out fresh copies of the marked up names list.  It took him about forty-five minutes to get everything in and double check it.  Then he emailed it to Benson and spent a couple of minutes playing with the filter before giving up and deciding Benson (Ainsley) could do it.  He collected the fresh sheets, shredded the ones he’d made a mess of, and took the elevator to the top floor.

Brock and Dylan were in their shared office, sitting at their own desks and appeared to be working, but there was thick tension in the air.

“Uh, hey, Brock.  Is John in?  Do you think he’d have time to meet with me?”

“When?”

“Now’s good.”

Brock gave him a look and Dylan rolled his eyes.  Apparently the idea of someone requesting an immediate, unscheduled meeting with their bosses was a tremendous faux pas.  Even still, Brock picked up the phone called John.  He informed Jordan with a frown that John would see him.  Jordan gave him a smile and walked down the hall to John’s office.  He knocked on the door and rather than being told to come in, John opened the door.  Jordan almost took a step back.  He hadn’t been prepared to suddenly be standing near John.

“Jordan.  My assistant says that you’d like to impose on me for a few minutes.”

“Yes,” Jordan said dryly.  “I heard him.”

John chuckled and stepped back.  “Come inside.”

Once Jordan was in and the door shut, John led them over to the small sitting area.  Without thinking, Jordan sat on the couch and John took the opportunity to sit next to him.  He turned to face the other man and gave him a tight smile.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Jordan?”

“Um, honestly, a little bit, yeah.”

“Why?  Because you’ve never felt curious before?”  John slid his hand over Jordan’s knee.

Jordan calmly removed his hand and scooted back a bit.

“John.  Considering I’m an agent, and undercover, this would be highly inappropriate even if I were interested.  And I’m not.  I’ve never felt attracted to men.”

“Probably because you never let yourself consider the possibility.  But you considered it last week in that closet, right over there.  And it wasn’t wholly unappealing, was it?”

Jordan cleared his throat.  “I’m actually here today because of why I was in that closet.  I was snooping, and you know it.  But, I think I found something and I’d like to ask you about it.”

“In that closet?  Ask away but I don’t know if I could tell you about anything in it.”

“Why not?”

“This office used to belong to Chris’s father.  When he left the business to Chris, he decided to turn the large conference room into his office and give me this one.  Everything in that closet I presume was put in there by the late Mr. Klein.  Or his assistants or predecessors.”

“So, you don’t know anything about the marks next to these names?” Jordan asked as he opened the folder he had slipped the pages into.

John took the folder from him and looked over the pages.  A small frown pinched his brow and lips as he looked over the annotated names.

“What is the context for these names?”

“They were in a box containing documents and information for The Lilac House.”

“The Lilac House…why does that sound familiar?”

“It’s a charity that Klein & Klein supports.”

“Ah, yes, of course.  I know it more as Lilac Night.  The charity hosts a ball annually in order to drum up donations from its more…affluent patrons.  I attended last year, but it was a rather drab affair.  The silent auction made no sense.  They offered up items like ‘Moroccan Spoons’ and ‘Romani Lilies.’  I suppose since it’s a charity they can’t exactly offer trips to Tahiti, but I found it easier just to write a check and leave.”

“Do you recognize any of the names?”

“Most of them, actually.  But I have no idea what the marks mean.  I didn’t make this list and it doesn’t look like Brock’s handwriting.  I’m not sure I can help you.  Although…”

“Although?”

“I did notice two of our double dippers are on here with the same markings next to their names.”

“I noticed that as well.”

“Well, they also have the same markings as this man, Warner Goddard.”

“Oh, I thought that was a company.”

John smiled.  “It is a ridiculous name.  And while I can’t tell you why they have the markings, I would say that if I were to group these three together I’d probably label them as racist assholes.”

Jordan’s eyebrows went up.

“Other than that though, I’m not sure what they have in common.”

“Ah.  Well, thank you for taking a look at it for me.  And, I really do want to apologize for what happened last Thursday.  I never—”

“Jordan, it’s okay.  I’ll admit it was actually hotter for me knowing you were in there—”

“You knew the whole time?” Jordan asked weakly, his face going up in flames.

“I have this office monitored with security cameras and motion sensors that turn on when I leave the room.  As soon as you entered, a notification was sent to my phone.  I watched you snooping the whole time I ordered my coffee downstairs.  When Chris accosted me when I got back up here, I forgot to check the feed again and since I didn’t see you when we walked in, I assumed you had left.  It wasn’t until we had crossed that point of no return when I heard the door squeak.  When I realized the closet door was open, I knew you had to be in there.  And by that point I couldn’t stop or Chris would have gotten suspicious and very pissy.  Also, I was quite upset with you, so I figured you deserved a little embarrassment.”

“Thanks,” he muttered.”

“But, to my surprise, it wasn’t just embarrassment you felt.”

John put his hand on his knee again.  Jordan brushed it off and stood up.

“John.  I realize unprofessionalism is not an argument that will work with you.”  The man smirked.  “And you view my heterosexuality as a challenge.”  He bobbed his head in slight acknowledgement.  “Then I at least ask you to understand that even if you could get me to ignore those other two, I just couldn’t possibly do anything like that now.  I can’t.  I…”  He sighed.  “I recently had my heart stomped on.  With a very sharp high heeled shoe.  I can’t…I can’t…”

John stood up.  “Say no more.  I understand.  Concentrate on your work and see if you can find any rats in my company.  And when this is all over, we can revisit point number two.”

Jordan gave him a look, but took the conversation as a win.  John handed him the folder back and walked him to the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Bell.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Carpinelli.”

**Wednesday, August 5, 2014**

 

Benson looked up from his phone as someone placed a heavy file box on his desk  Another was stacked on top of it, and a third one was placed on the floor.

“What’s all this?”

“Subpoenaed bank records,” the courier informed him.

“Hard copies?!”

The man shrugged.  “Can you sign here and confirm receipt?”

Benson signed.

“Here’s your copy and the forms for the boxes for the chain of custody when you put them in the evidence locker.”

“Thanks.”

“Have fun.”

Benson looked at the boxes, appalled.  He hadn’t received actual paper for financial documents in years.  Well, except for the pile Carpinelli had dumped on him, but Benson suspected he’d only done that to keep him busy while he introduced Jordan as a new employee.  Ainsley peeked his head over the divide, took one look, and said, “No.”  Then he disappeared again.  Benson sighed and scooted the box on the floor closer.  He pulled off the lid and then promptly put it back on.  He pouted a few moments, and then took the lid back off.  He pulled out the first folder marked with an account number and the dates 1/3/2012 – 6/30/2012, and began reading.

~~~

“Hey, Jordan,” Arella said, her voice one degree above freezing.  “Are you here to cancel lunch too?”

“No, of course not.”

Jordan leaned on the counter.

“Can you not lean?  You get hand grease all over the top.”

Jordan straightened.  “Arella, I’m sorry.  I told you…something just…”

“Came up.  Yeah, I know.”

Her frostiness disappeared suddenly, like she couldn’t keep up the façade anymore.  Jordan leaned back on the counter.

“Look, Jordan, if you think a five night stand is pushing the bounds of the just two people having fun thing, I get it.  But don’t lie to me about wanting to see me.  I can’t take that.”

“Arella, please don’t doubt that I want to see you.  You can believe that I want to see you.”

He stopped, not sure what to say next.  She waited, and then said, “But?”

“But what?”

“You want to see me, but…?”

Jordan just looked at her for a moment, taking in the ponytail that curled out the end, the cat-like look of her subtle eye makeup, those red lips, and the slight crease of sadness and disappointment marring her smooth brow.

“But nothing.  Something really did just come up and I’m sorry I had to cancel.  But, I just figured that meant we could try again today or this weekend.  Whenever is good for you.”

“Oh.  Really?  Because normally when a guy can’t tell you why—”

“Not can’t.  Didn’t want to.”  He heaved a sigh.  “My toilet stopped up and overflowed.  A lot.  I had to find a twenty-four hour plumber to come out because I actually own, not rent.  I didn’t want to explain to you that I was standing in a puddle of my own shit while canceling our date.”

Arella wrinkled her nose.  “Thank you for sparing me.”

“Hey, I tried.  You wanted to know.”

“And I regret it.”  She smiled.  “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

He shrugged.  “No big deal.  So, we’ll reschedule.  Once your apartment is aired out.”

“Yep.  Or…we could go to your place.”

“We might need to wait for my place to air out too,” he said with a laugh and she joined him.

“I completely understand.  We’ll work it out.  See you at lunch.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Jordan turned to walk toward the elevators and rolled his eyes while making a face.  What was wrong with him?  He’d canceled their date in an evasive manner in order to make her suspicious and angry and probably happy that their fling was ending.  And now he’d smoothed it all over with a literal (inexistent) pile of shit.  Perfect.

~~~

Benson opened the door to Potomac First and was once again off put by the fake wood and marble that overtook every feature of the large lobby.  Only one of the teller windows was manned and the first couple of cubicles were empty.  Before he reached the second row, Grace emerged, looking sexy in a mauve formfitting dress that complemented her dark skin beautifully.

“Hello, again.  Uh, it’s Mr. Renner, right?”

“Remick.”

“Oh, I apologize.  Mr. Remick.  Have you decided to open an account today?”

Benson pulled out his credentials and showed them to her.  “Actually, I’d like to speak with Mr. Podvodnik.”

Grace’s eyes went wide.  “Is he under arrest?”

“No, no.  I just have a few questions.  His information my help us with a case.  He’s more like a material witness, not a suspect.”

“Oh, I see.  Thank goodness.  I’ll go get him.”

Benson smiled and watched her climb the stairs, only feeling marginally guilty that he had a fiancé.  Beauty was beauty and he knew Oska would have liked the view too.  He didn’t feel guilty at all about lying to her though.  It was easier to get people to cooperate when they thought they were going to be the heroes, not treated like a bad guy.

A few minutes later Benson was seated in Mr. Podvodnik’s office while the man poured himself a stiff drink from the mini bar hidden inside the globe.  The lid closed with a loud metal clang and the man took a seat at his desk.  Now with the large chair and the tumbler of whisky he looked like a Bond villain.

“So.  FBI.  What can I do for you Mr…Agent Remick?”

“I assume you’re aware that some account records were subpoenaed from your bank this week.”

“I must admit I didn’t know.  When records are requested the legal department handles it.  Often it’s for civil suits.  One person claiming their money was withdrawn without permission; verification of funds in alimony or child support cases.  These aren’t brought to my attention.  I imagine though what you brings you here is something that should have been brought to my attention.”

“Perhaps.  It doesn’t involve you directly.  We pulled the records on six individuals who have bank accounts with you that have the exact same number as the accounts that they have at a national bank.”

The man took a sip of his drink.  “Well, I’ll admit that is peculiar.  But, if they had the account at the national bank and then came to us and asked if they could choose their own account number here to make it easier to remember…”  he shrugged.  “We probably accommodated the request.  Our routing number is registered nationally and that’s really all that matters so long as the numbers are unique within our own system.”

“There are few more interesting things about these accounts.”

“Such as?” the man asked archly, his fingers slipping slightly on the glass in his hand.  He hadn’t put ice in the drink, so it wasn’t condensation.  He was sweating.

“All six were opened within days of each other.”

“I don’t find coincidences interesting, Agent Remick.”

“All of the accounts, despite being opened only a couple of years ago, have thousands of transactions involving the deposit and withdrawal of very small sums of money.”

The man shrugged.  “We have no limit on how many transactions a person may make with their checking accounts.”

“For long stretches of time the accounts even sit completely empty.”

“There’s no law that states people have to keep money in an account.  We do have a nominal minimum amount required to avoid fees, but if the client wishes to pay it, there’s nothing we can do but collect.”

“There are also a number of transactions where money comes out, but there’s no record of where it goes.”

“It was probably a cash withdrawal.”

“No, I don’t think so.  All six accounts made these transactions on the same day at virtually the same time to something marked only as TTPT.”

“If they all have subscriptions or memberships to the same company or organization, the organization probably pulls fees from all their clients at the same time.”

“What is TTPT?  I couldn’t find a specific business with those initials and there was no account number associated with it.  The bank records literally just show money from the accounts going to TTPT, and that’s it.  The money seems to disappear.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t, but I am not privy to what the bank’s clients do with their money.”

“I see.  There was one more odd transaction, if you’ll permit me.”  Benson continued even though it appeared that Podvodnik was about to tell him no.  “One of the accounts, one time, made a small deposit to a charity known as The Lilac House.  Within an hour, the money was returned to the bank account, and the same sum was then sent to TTPT and poof.  Vanished.”

“People make mistakes.  Fortunately whoever runs that charity is on top of things and was able to help correct the error.”

“’Whoever runs that charity?’  Isn’t it you?  Aren’t you one of the founders?”

The man took a large swallow of his drink and shifted.  “Why, yes, I am.  But, I don’t run it.  I have a bank to tend to.  Perhaps our close acquaintance is why the error was able to be rectified so quickly.”

“Hmm.  You know, I also noticed that The Lilac House’s routing number is Potomac First’s.”

“Do you find it odd that I would provide a bank account to the charity I helped found?”

“No, no.  Not at all.  What I do find odd is that you felt the need to defend every transaction made by these six accounts.  If they are indeed random clients, wholly unassociated with you, why would you try to cover for them?  It seems like most people would be happy if the FBI were able to identify a worm in their apple so that it could be removed.”

“I like to give people the benefit of the doubt, Agent Remick.  The United States Government is not known for its impartiality.  Especially of late.”

“So, in your professional opinion, the transactions made by these accounts aren’t unusual?  I’m clearly not an expert on the subject, so I wanted to get the opinion of someone who is.”

The small man’s shoulders relaxed a little and a tiny smile quirked one corner of his mouth.

“Ah, I see.  I do have quite a bit of experience; I’ve been managing this bank for almost ten years and I managed larger banks for decades before that.  I’m quite familiar with what is and is not normal transaction history and behavior.”

“And in your professional opinion?”

“What you’ve described to me sounds completely innocuous, Agent Remick.  Some accounts are more heavily used than others, some are used as stress tests for new businesses starting up—particularly online businesses—and quite frankly, some accounts are owned by dimwitted people.”

Benson smiled.  “Thank you so much for explaining it to me.  I hope I didn’t trouble you today.”

“Not at all!  I’m proud to help the FBI.”  He stood up and finished his drink.  “Would you like a glass?”

Benson declined again as the man went back into his bar for another couple of fingers of amber liquid.

“I think I’ve taken up enough of your time.  I’ll see myself out if that’s alright with you.”

“By all means, by all means.  Have a good day, Agent Remick.  Oh, did you ever contact Klein & Klein?”

“I haven’t had the chance yet.”

“No matter, no matter.  Perhaps it's for the best though.  I doubt a civil servant such as yourself has enough disposable income to need their services.  No offense.”

“None taken,” Benson smiled again.  “Good day, sir.”

“And a good day to you too.”

Benson left the office and hurried down the wide staircase.  As he crossed the lobby, Grace smiled at him.

“Won’t be needing that account after all?” she asked.

“Well, not getting one today means I get to come back another day.”  He gave her a wink and she gave him a slightly scolding smirk.  Benson walked out of Potomac First with his phone already at his ear.

~~~

“Hey, Benson," Jordan answered his phone.  "How’d the meeting with Podvodnik go?”

“Well, he’s a lying sack of shit.  But fortunately he’s also an arrogant ass.”

Jordan let out a small laugh and clicked a filter on and off on his spreadsheet.  “So what are you thinking?”

“He’s guilty of something.  I’m not sure how entrenched he is in it, or if he’s simply being bribed to turn a blind eye to what’s going on.”

“So should we pursue him?”

“I don’t know.  I know he’s involved, but I don’t know if following his trail will lead us somewhere new.  I think he’s probably keeping his hands clean for the most part.  What I’d really like to dig into is the charity.”

“The Lilac House?”

“Yes.  I feel they’re somehow central to all of this.”

“Can we get a warrant for their records?”

“Based on what?  Everything we’ve seen indicates that they’re totally legit.  Even though they were involved in a transaction with one of our persons of interest, they immediately gave the money back.  That just proves that they’re not accepting bribes or dirty money.  I don’t think we could possibly justify investigating them to a judge.”

“If we could though, what are you expecting to find?”

Benson sighed heavily.  “I don’t even know.  Discrepancies in their finances?  Maybe their taxes only look good because they’re only showing the good records.  I’d want to see if the money they’re giving to those in need is actually being received by those in need.  Honestly I want to find nothing.  But at this point we haven’t found any other connection amongst the double dippers.  And we still don’t know what the money is being used for.  Unless we can prove they’re stealing from Klein & Klein, there is nothing illegal about having multiple bank accounts and making multiple deposits and withdrawals.”

“If they’re hiding the money from the IRS, that’s something.”

“That’s true.  But asking for an IRS audit—we’ll be working this case until muttonchops are back in style.”

“Anything I can do from my end?”

“See if you can scrounge any more information on the double dippers.  Maybe something else will shake loose and give us another trail to follow.”

“Will do.  I’ll check in again tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

Jordan hung up and went back to work on his spreadsheet of names.  For some reason the fact that three of the names stood out to John enough for him to mention them specifically, even if it was to call them racist assholes, was like a red flag in Jordan’s face.  He moved those three names to the top of the list, and then filtered the columns of marks to see if anyone else matched.  No others had the exact same combination of symbols, but those three and an additional two others are the only ones who had dollar signs written next to them.  He didn’t recognize the other two names.  They weren’t double dippers, and he’d reviewed Klein & Klein’s files and transactions so much, he felt like he knew the names of all their clients.  Of course, this list was from The Lilac House, and not everyone there was going to use Klein & Klein as their investor.

After deliberating for a few more minutes, Jordan went in search of Aaron Goldstein.  He was in his fifties and had been working as a broker at Klein & Klein for over thirty years.  When Jordan had interviewed him, he’d asked why he’d never chosen to try to move up the ladder.  He’d said that he enjoyed his work—watching the market, making predictions.  He’d been a little bitter about the fact that computers now controlled everything, but he preferred working with clients in person as opposed to dealing with the time-consuming pressure of running a business.

Jordan found Aaron at his desk, carefully mixing honey into his tea.  Even though most of the brokers worked in a communal bullpen-type space, his seniority had at least gotten him a private office.  He knocked on the open door and the man looked up at him.  He smiled, which made his ethnic features a little more prominent.

“Jordan, hello!  Good morning to you.  Hump day, hump day.  Need my tea to make it through the morning.  Come in, come in.  Do you want to hear more about my trading secrets?”

Jordan smiled and pushed the door partially closed after he stepped into the office.  He was amused by Aaron’s definition of “secrets” because as far as Jordan could tell the man had told him and everyone in the office how he went about his business.

“Good morning, Aaron.  I wish I was here for some secret trading, but I’ve got a quick question for you that you may not be able to answer, but I thought I’d ask anyway.”

“Not be able to answer?  Jordan!  I’ve been here for over thirty years.  Did you know that?”

“Uh, yeah, you—”

“Thirty years.  I joined on right after little Chrissy’s father took over for his father.  Klein & Klein is a good family business.”

“Yeah, it is.  I know.  I just have questions about a couple of people, but they’re not clients here, which is why you might not know them.”

“Not clients?  Why do you need to know about them?”

“I don’t really.  It’s more like I came across their names and I was wondering who they were.”

“How’d you come across their names?”

“I found some old documents.  Maybe they had come in for a consultation and decided not to invest with Klein & Klein.”

“A mistake on their part, let me tell you.  Did I tell you about the time I turned one hundred dollars into a hundred thousand in two weeks?”

“Uh, yeah, you—”

“Two weeks!  One thousand percent return.  I won employee of the year.”

“That’s great, Aaron.  Have you heard of these two people?”

Jordan handed him a Post-It note with the two names in question on it.  Aaron’s jovial demeanor dimmed somewhat as he looked at the names.  He looked at Jordan over his thick glasses, and then handed the note back to him.

“You found documents on these two?  I would have thought these would have all been shredded.”

“It was an old box, shoved in a closet.”

“I see.”

“So, you recognize the names?”

“I do.”

“What do you know about them?”

“Well, not too much about them, honestly.  They were clients here about ten years ago.  I never handled their cases.  I don’t know if I ever met them personally.”

“Why aren’t they clients anymore?”

“Well, Mr. Klein—Chrissy’s father—decided one day he didn’t want to keep them on as clients.  Their money was pulled from our accounts, we cut a cashier’s check, and sent them packing.”

“Did Mr. Klein say why?”

“No, he never did.”

“So, you don’t know if they were stealing from the company or…?”

“No, I don’t think it had anything to do with Klein & Klein.  I think it was more personal.  He just felt that they were…the kind of people he didn’t want to do business with.”

“That’s interesting.”

“Eh.  I trusted Mr. Klein’s judgment.  Still do.  If they were bad news, we’re better off without them.”

“I see.  Are you familiar with Michael Valenti, Judith Bauer, or Martin Beranski?”

Well, Valenti and Bauer are clients here.  I’ve worked them a few times.  Pretty typical rich people, but I don’t hold that against them since it pays my salary.”

Jordan smiled.

“Beranski…that doesn’t sound familiar.  Why?”

“I just found their names in the same box as the other two.  I was wondering if there was a reason they would be grouped together.  Since two of them are our clients.”

“I’m afraid I can’t think of a reason why their old files would be in an old box somewhere.  The box didn’t give a clue?  Wasn’t labeled?”

“Ah, well, it was labeled with the name of a charity.”

“Well, there’s your answer, son.  They’re probably all patrons of that charity.”

“That’s a good point.  Thank you for your time this morning, Aaron.”

Aaron waved him off.  “Any time, any time.  You come back whenever you like.  I’ll tell you about the time I advised a US Congressman to sell his oil stocks.  That kid was dumb as a box of hair.”

Jordan laughed.  “I’d love to hear it sometime.  Thanks again.”

Jordan escaped out of Aaron’s office before he had to hear the story about the Congressman for the third time.  As he made his way to his office, he thought about what Aaron had said.  Two of the people grouped in with the three racist assholes had been dismissed from Klein & Klein for personal reasons, not business.  It seemed to be a pretty safe assumption that all five were racist assholes.  But these people also supported a charity that combated human trafficking, a crime that primarily affected minorities and non-Americans.  Would racists really support that cause?  Would it be a way to combat accusations of racism?

He had a feeling that The Lilac House was the thing casting a shadow on both his and Benson’s investigations.  They couldn’t see beyond it, and there was nothing they could do to illuminate the mystery.  Legally they had no grounds to use investigative techniques to learn more about them.  Legally they had no reason to look into them.

Jordan found himself in the lobby instead of his office.  Arella was wearing a sky blue bolero and white blouse.  She looked young and summery and innocent.  He approached the desk and leaned over the counter.  She smiled up at him with pale, pink lips.

“Hi, Jordan.  Got more sexy talk about shit to share with me?”

He laughed and shook his head.  “No.  I’m just glad we were able to clear that misunderstanding up.”

“Me too.”

“And I want you to know that…I like you for you.  I really do.  Being two people just hanging out is more enjoyable because you’re one of the two.”

Arella smiled and dropped her chin shyly, and then looked back up.

“I just really want you to know that.  That I like you, and not the help you’ve given me.  Because while appreciated it, it’s not why I hang out with you.  And I wouldn’t want you to do anything else.  I don’t want you to break any laws and I don’t want you to think you need to give me information on anything.  Okay?”

Arella wasn’t really smiling anymore.  Her brow was creased in mild confusion and she looked slightly annoyed but she nodded.  “Okay.  I understand.”

“Good.  So, on a completely unrelated topic, have you heard of a charity called The Lilac House?”

“The Lilac House?”

“Yeah.  They combat human trafficking.  It’s a great organization.  If you’re curious, you could learn more about them because I think the work they do is important.  For your own personal benefit.”

Arella watched him carefully.  “Okay…thanks for the recommendation.”

“Sure.  Alright.  Well, I’ve got to get back to work.  I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

Jordan walked over to the elevators not sure whether he was smooth as ice or as awkward as a cow on a crutch.

**Thursday, August 6, 2014**

 

 Benson looked over the list of five names Jordan had pulled from the pages of odd markings.  With the other four double dippers, there was a total of nine people who were involved with The Lilac House.  Eight of whom had a history with Klein & Klein, five of whom had questionable moral character, and three of whom were known racists.  The real kicker was that six of them lived in the same affluent neighborhood in northern Virginia.  Two were in the only part of DC that was vaguely comparable to the Upper East Side in New York.  One was in a wealthy suburb of Maryland.  Benson looked over the addresses and wondered if he should just go out and talk to them in their homes.  There was nothing illegal about knocking on someone’s door.

His desk phone rang and he picked it up and tucked it in between his ear and shoulder so that he could type in the Maryland address to Google Maps for directions.  “This is Benson.”

“Agent Remick, this is Ronald Pak.”

“Oh, hi.  How’s the request going?”

“Good.  Excellent actually.  You’re leaving tomorrow.”

Benson froze and the phone slipped off his shoulder and clattered onto the desk.  He quickly grabbed it and picked it up.

“Agent Remick?”

“Sorry.  I dropped the phone.”

Pak chuckled.  “I understand.  I’m shocked it went through so fast too, but apparently the governor of Oregon and one the state’s senators got involved.  The state is paying for the whole thing and demanding that he be brought out here immediately so we can find the Green Falls Killer.  They don’t even care that Little won’t give a name and wants to take the officers to the site himself.  They’re telling everyone to just cooperate.”

“That’s—but, the Elton PD has been trying to get him up to Elton for a few weeks now so that he can testify and clear a man’s name he allowed to take the fall for a kill Hannigan committed.”

“What can I say?  A governor and a state senator have more clout.  The company that’s doing the transport is Mooreland Security.  They want to try to do this in one day, but they put enough cushion on it to extend into Saturday if they have to.

“You’re going to meet the security team along with four state highway patrolmen and two air marshals at the prison at five o’clock.”

“In the morning?”

“Yes.  The transfer of custody should be completed by 5:30.  The patrolmen will escort the van to the Richmond Airport.  From there you, the security team, and the air marshals will take him to a private plane that is scheduled to take off at 7:00.  You should land at the Redmond Municipal Airport at 9:30am local time.  Agents from the FBI’s Portland office will meet you there along with a state patrol escort.  It’s a two hour drive to Green Falls from there.  The Green Falls police department have prepared the station for holding him.

“Depending on how long it takes to get what we need from Russell, you’ll either travel back by reverse route that night or first thing Saturday morning.  The security team will be with you the whole time as well as air marshals, state and local police, and federal agents.  Little has demanded that you go along or he won’t play ball, but you told me that would be the case.”

“And everyone is really okay with this?  Everyone feels that it’ll be safe?”

“Two of the three bodies pulled from the lake last week were in good enough shape that the M.E. was able to determine that they had brands under their tongues.  Everyone is certain he’s working with Little now.  Also…a girl has gone missing from a town on the other side of Lake Splendid.  There’s no evidence yet to suggest the Green Falls Killer snatched her, but there’s nothing to suggest he didn’t either.  The whole area, the state, hell, even the nation is focused on what’s going on there right now.  Everyone is demanding that law enforcement stop him already.  We’re in that mythical ticking time bomb scenario here, Agent Remick.  We’re willing to go to extremes.

“I know this is hard for you, Benson…”

Benson was startled by the USA’s use of his first name.

“But if you can do this, if you can get him to help us catch this monster—I think that will do more to soothe your soul than he can torture it.”

Benson nodded and swallowed.  His mouth had gone dry.  He picked up his water bottle and took three deep draughts.

“I understand.  And I agree.  I’ll be at the prison tomorrow at 4:45am.”

“Thank you, Benson.  You’re a hero.”

Pak hung up and Benson numbly put the phone back in its cradle.  He leaned forward and covered his face, shivering uncontrollably.  He wasn’t worried about tomorrow; he was worried about the phone call he had to make tonight.

~~~

Jordan grumbled as his apartment building finally came into sight.  He was really starting to miss his Bu car.  Commuting to work on the Metro everyday was not fun.  The system always had some sort of problem: broken trains, broken switches, track work, messed up schedules.  After dealing with that headache for anywhere from twenty-five to forty minutes, he then had a twenty minute walk to his apartment.  He hadn’t chosen his apartment based on proximity to the Metro because he knew he’d be driving to work.  Unless some pervy CEO strong-armed him into going undercover.  But what were the odds of that happening?

He was also in a foul mood because when he’d gotten to work a stranger had been at Arella’s desk.  She was a temp called in to cover since Arella had taken a sick day.  He discovered that he looked forward to going to work at Klein & Klein everyday so that he could see her.  Without her there, he was just at a stuffy investment firm feeling like he was chasing his tail.  And he had to eat lunch with Aaron and hear about the Congressman.  He was not in a good mood.

He approached the door to his building from the south side of the complex’s parking lot, so it was concealed by tall shrubberies until he was almost on top of it.  That was why he didn’t see her until he was putting the key in the lock.

“Arella!”

“Hi, Jordan.”

He stared, not only surprised to see her, but thrown off by her casual appearance in tight jeans and a pink T-shirt.

“Uh…what are you doing here?  How did you find me?”

The address in his personnel record was a fake.  She couldn’t have found him through that.

“I saw your driver’s license once when you paid for lunch.  You have a weird middle name.”

Jordan frowned slightly.  Avery wasn’t a weird name, and he didn’t even have it on his driver’s license.  He paled.  His true name was on his license.  If she saw Szustakowski…

“It was my mother’s maiden name.  My parents thought it would be better than hyphenating.”

“Smart.  “Suzucow-Bell sounds kind of funny.”

He almost corrected her, but hell if she thought it was Suzucow, she didn’t need to know it wasn’t.

“Um, so, what brings you here?”

“I independently and through no direction from you decided to do a little research on The Lilac House.  And I thought we could be two people who get together and talk and I might bring up some things I learned about them.”

Jordan looked at Arella and knew that this conversation was ridiculous and that she knew this conversation was ridiculous and that any defense attorney worth his salt would be able to sew up the loopholes they were trying to squeeze through.  But there weren’t any attorneys to worry about at the moment.

“Okay.  Do you want to come up?”

“I’d like that.”

Jordan let them into the building and skipped picking up his mail.  He didn’t want to have anything with his true name on it in his hand.  He tried to think about the state of his apartment.  He didn’t think there was anything sitting about or on the walls that had his name or occupation linked to it, but mostly he was wondering how bad the dishes in the sink were and if his bedroom was completely covered in dirty laundry.

He opened the door cautiously and gave his apartment a sniff.  It smelled okay to him.  He let Arella inside and watched her face to see if her nose wrinkled.  She didn’t seem disturbed by anything, so he counted that as an Arella point in his favor.  His apartment was small, but more than big enough for one person to live in comfortably.  Except the bathroom.  He had to stoop a little to take a shower, but he had to do that at most hotels too.  Arella looked around the living room and partially open kitchen, but it seemed to be out of politeness.  She moved to sit on the couch and started pulling documents out of her bag.  Straight to business then.  Jordan slipped his shoes off and dumped his keys and wallet on a bookshelf by the door, then joined her on the couch.

“I’m guessing you found something interesting, and are not sick?”

She looked up, momentarily confused.  Then she smiled sheepishly.  “Yeah, not sick.  Totally played hooky.  But, I think it was worth it.  I found some interesting things about The Lilac House.”

“Please tell me they do help people at least.”

“Oh, yes, they’re totally legit.  Well, at least the people actively working for it.  All the money they raise through fundraisers and from donations goes to running the office, paying the salaries of the six full time employees, and the rest does go to supporting finding missing women and children, providing them temporary shelter, and reuniting them with their families when they can.  It’s all very valiant work on the surface, but when you dig a little deeper, there are a few things that don’t add up.”

“How did you—you know what?  Never mind.  What’d you find?”

Arella spread some documents detailing bank transactions out of the coffee table as she spoke.  “The Lilac House does all of their banking at Potomac First.  They have four bank accounts.  When the money from donations comes in, it is split between the expenses account and the services account.  The rent for leasing their office space, office supplies, employee salaries, things like that, all come out of the expenses account.  The money they provide to help victims comes from the services account.  All the money in and out adds up and goes where it is supposed to.”

“So what are the other two accounts?”

“I don’t know.  One account receives money from some weird code, TTPT.”

Jordan didn’t react to the code, but he recognized it as the one Benson had said the six double dippers were using.

“This code, rather than an account number, makes multiple deposits into the account, and then a lump sum is transferred to their fourth account.  That account only has deposits from the TTPT code and bimonthly has cash withdrawn from it.”

“Money coming out of an account of a legitimate charity.”

“Yeah, sounds like money laundering to me too.”

“But they’re not laundering the donations.”

“Nope.  So where is the money coming from?”

Arella eyed him like she expecting him to tell her.  The fact that he now had a link between the double dippers and the charity—the TTPT code at Potomac First—meant that he did know what money was being laundered.  But he certainly couldn’t tell her that.  As far as he knew, she didn’t know that he already knew about the code, so he shrugged.

“I don’t know.  I mean, we know the double dippers use Potomac First too, but the money going to the charity isn’t coming from their accounts.  At least according to what you found.  It’s this code, or whatever.  How does that work?  How can money come from a code?”

“Well, when a bank is privately owned, they can do pretty much anything as long as no one notices.”

“So, you think the real culprit here is the bank.”

“Maybe.  Maybe they’re just being paid to be the middle man.”

“So who is masterminding the whole thing?  The charity, the bank, or the double dippers?  And where does Flora and the program fit in?”

“You don’t suspect Klein & Klein at all?” Arella asked.

“No, I don’t think they’re involved.  I feel like they’re being used.  Otherwise, why would they need the program?  They could just put the money directly into their Potomac First accounts and Klein & Klein could hide the records.”

“That’s a good point.”  Arella leaned back against the couch and propped her arm on the back.  Jordan’s eyes were drawn to the hint of skin revealed along her navel as her T-shirt rode up slightly.  “So, you don’t know anything about the six double dippers and Potomac First other than the fact that they have accounts there?”

Jordan shrugged.  “I only have information that I can get at the firm, and they don’t have client bank records.  Honestly, most of what I know I got through you.”

“Right,” she said slowly, her eyes sweeping over him.  She met his eyes again, and then leaned over to grab something else out of her bag.  “There’s one more very interesting thing that The Lilac House does with their money.  They report it in their taxes, so it’s not a hidden expense.  It’s filed under leisure.”

“Well, what is it?”

“They rent a slip in the Port of Baltimore.”

Jordan made a confused face.  “What?  Why?”

“They keep a boat there that was donated to them by a wealthy benefactor and claim they use it to have a fun activity for the people they help to do while they wait to be relocated or returned home.”

“Okay.  I’m not seeing the nefariousness that you are.”

“The boat they own, as stated in their tax records, is a medium-sized motorboat that holds about twenty or thirty people.  A boat that size can be stored in basically every marina up and down the Chesapeake Bay.  Why on earth are they spending so much money every month to rent a slip in the Port of Baltimore that could house a coaster?”

“A coaster?”

“A coastal transporter.  It’s a small cargo ship.”

“The slip wasn’t donated?”

“No.  They pay for it.  Every month.  It’s also hardly convenient for leisure cruises if all the employees and charity recipients are in the DC area.  A slip that size is generally only used for cargo vessels, especially in an industrial port like Baltimore’s.  Why on earth would a charity need a slip for a cargo ship?”

“You think they’re exporting something?”

She shrugged a shoulder and looked down, her lips tight.  “Or importing something.”

Jordan looked over the papers spread over his coffee table.  The slip in the port was weird, but he had the key to linking Klein & Klein to Potomac First to The Lilac House.  It would be difficult to use Arella’s information directly, but they could probably go through the Federal Reserve and get them to open an investigation into the TTPT code.  They had found that information through the subpoenaed bank records so they could present it as evidence.  The fact that they knew there would be something to find would make them feel more confident about forcing the issue.  But, none of that involved Arella.

“Well, I should bring this to Chris’ and John’s attention.  They’ll probably want to stop donating to that particularly charity.”

“You’re not…going to go to the police?”

“Um…n-no.  I work for Klein & Klein, but I still don’t have any proof of embezzling.  As far as the charity laundering money, we technically don’t know that for sure based on the records you have.  Also, they’re your records so I couldn’t explain how I got them.  Are you going to go to the police?”

“No.  I know less than you do.  The charity is shady, but there’s no connection to money from Klein & Klein except from legitimate donations.  Unless…you know something you’re not telling me.”

Jordan shrugged.  “Nope.  If I could figure out that money transfer program maybe I’d have something, but it seems like the link between the double dippers and the charity is the bank.  And I don’t have any access to the bank.”

“The bank…” Arella mused, looking away, deep in thought.

“Arella,” he said her name sharply and she looked at him.

“I don’t know how you got this information, but it can’t be legal.  You haven’t gotten caught yet because you’ve been hacking systems that were developed by IT people for private businesses.  If you try to access bank records, even for a local bank, you’re going to be getting into a much more serious system.”

“Who said I’m going to try to hack into the bank?”

“No one, and I hope that means no one is thinking about it either.”

“Relax, Jordan.  Nothing will blow back onto you.”

Jordan cocked his head as he looked at her.  Her demeanor was calm, her expressions nonplussed.  It seemed like she thought she was protecting him.

“Arella…are you—”

She moved forward and took his face in her hands, cutting him off with a kiss.

“I think we’ve done enough business for tonight,” she whispered against his lips.

She kissed him again, straddling his lap and licking at the seam of his lips.  His brain was rapidly shutting down, and he gave up trying to concentrate on his thoughts completely when he accidentally let his lips part and her tongue swept into his mouth.  He gathered her into his arms and stood up from the couch.  She locked her legs around his waist and kissed his cheek and jaw as he carried her to the bedroom.

The one luxury he had was a California king sized bed, but with his height, it felt pretty standard.  Arella looked small and delicate when he placed her on it.  Then she got up onto her knees with a wicked grin and pulled him down onto the mattress.  He laughed with her and they shed clothes quickly as they kissed and stroked their hands over every new inch of skin revealed.

Jordan slid a hand between her legs and groaned softly when his middle fingers slipped easily between her wet lips, sinking into pleasant warmth.  She let out a small noise and worked her hips, rubbing herself against his hand.  He started to sit up so that he could turn her—he wanted his mouth where his hand was—but she pushed back on his shoulders with her hands.  Then she kissed a trail down his torso and licked a slowly meandering trail up the long length of his shaft.  Jordan relaxed into the bed and let Arella blow him, taking in a fairly decent amount and using her hands on the rest.  He bent his knees and curled his toes to keep from fucking up into her mouth.

“Arella…I love your mouth.”

She pulled off with a popping sound.  “I know.  You stare at my lips all the time.”  She kissed the top of his penis and gave him a smile.  “Condom?”

“Uh…bathroom.  Under the sink.  I’ll—”

“I’ll get them.

Arella hopped off the bed and disappeared out the door.  He stroked his cock languidly and smiled when he heard her clattering around in the bathroom.  She was back a moment later, tearing a condom packet open with her teeth.  She crawled back onto the bed and Jordan moved his hand out of the way so that she could roll the condom on.  She took him in her mouth again, and then reached between her legs to get her fingers wet.  She sat up and lubed his cock with her own slick.  Jordan’s sigh was half moan and he could feel the heat in his eyes as he looked at her.

“Now, Jordan, I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to be offended.”

“Well, shit.  This can’t be good.”

Arella smiled prettily at him and continued to work his shaft in her small hand.  “Relax.  It’s mostly compliment.  Here’s the thing.  You’re big, right?  You know you are and it’s great.  Actually in terms of girth, you’re not the biggest I’ve ever seen, but you’re actually in that Goldilocks zone of perfect stretch.”

Jordan smiled.  “I am feeling complimented.”

“But.”

His smile went away.

“You’re quite long.  I mean, you’ve got to be at least eight inches, right?  Close to nine?”

“Eight and three-quarters,” he said softly, kind of embarrassed he knew exactly.

“Right.  Almost nine inches.  And I’m small to begin with, and I have a somewhat…shallow vaginal canal.”

“Vaginal canal?”

“The thing is, every time you put this all the way in—and it does feel good, don’t get me wrong—this,” she tapped the top of his cockhead and his dick twitched and blurted out precome, “bumps my cervix.”

“Y-your c-cervix?” he stammered, suddenly mortified to be using medical terms for anatomy.

“Mm-hmm.  Most men aren’t long enough to reach the cervix.  And the few that are, some women don’t mind it.  Now, it doesn’t hurt, but it’s not an entirely pleasant sensation either.”

“I’m-I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

“Oh, _chooki_ , don’t apologize.”  Arella moved forward and kissed his lips.  “You are perfect, really.  I’m just suggesting that maybe if we try it from a different position, I’ll have a little more control and we can both feel really, really good.”

“What position?”

Arella threw her leg over his body and position herself over his straining cock.  She grinned.

“What do you call it?  Cowboy style?”

“Well, cowgirl in this instance…oh, God,” Jordan trailed off into a groan as she lowered herself onto him.  She bit her lip and balanced herself with her hands on his stomach to control her descent.

“Feels good, Jordan.”

She took him almost completely in, but then stopped and began riding him slowly.  Jordan put his hands on her smooth thighs and stared up at her as she put her hands in her hair and closed her eyes.  He liked watching her small, firm breasts bounce with her movement, which gradually sped up.  He moved his hands up to rest in the juncture where her legs joined her hips and let his thumb settle over the top of her pussy.  He applied the slightest pressure and Arella hummed and whined as the pad of his thumb began to graze her clit as she rose up and down.  Her movement increased, but he kept his thumb at the same distance, providing just a bare minimum of stimulation.  Arella grabbed his wrist and moved fast, but he wouldn’t let her move his hand.

“Oh, God, Jordan…please, come on, come on…”

“I like this position, Arella.  You’re fucking beautiful and you feel so tight and so hot.”

“Come on, Jordan,” she whined again, pushing down harder.  “Touch me, don’t tease me.  Please, oh, God…fuck…come on…please just a little more.”

Jordan licked his lips and refused to give her more.  The pleasure built up in his groin as he watched her lose control as she rode his cock, brushing up against his thumb, bucking harder to get more contact.  Jordan knew he couldn’t last much longer—the look of her, the feel of her, those pretty sounds she made each time he moved his thumb a tiny bit were driving him crazy.  He pressed his thumb down and grinded it in a circle against her clit.  Arella cried out and her rhythm fell apart into wild movements that when combined with the delicious clenching of her pussy pulled him over the edge with her into orgasm.  They rode it out together, and she kept herself propped up by placing her hands on his chest.  She panted heavily, but there was a smile on her face.  Arella opened her eyes and he could have sworn a blush began to creep up onto her cheeks.

“Yee-haw,” she said softly.  And then broke into giggles and moved to curl against him.  She hid her face in his side as she continued to laugh and he took care of the condom.

“So how was that?” Jordan asked.

“It was great.”  She sat up and looked down at him.  “It was never bad, Jordan, don’t think that.”

“But, we got it down this time?”

“Yep.  Well, until the very end and then I was taking you all the way in.  But by that point I was so close I barely felt it.”

Jordan made a face.  “What does it feel like?”

“Hm…it’s mostly just a sensation of pressure.  But also like something trying to go somewhere that it just can’t.”

“Ugh.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“But—”

Jordan’s stomach growled loudly—and for some duration.  He hadn’t eaten since lunch and physical activity, even if he hadn’t done most of the work, made him hungrier for dinner than usual.  Arella gently slapped a hand onto his stomach.

“Oh, thank God.  I’m starving, but I didn’t want to be the one who brought it up.  Do you have any food?”

“Not really.  But there’s a Chinese place around the corner from here.  On a Thursday night, we should be able to get some in about fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect.  I like sweet and sour chicken and wonton soup.  I prefer steamed dumplings, but I’ll eat egg rolls if you prefer them.”

“No, dumplings are good.”

“Great.  You order and I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Okay.”

Arella pecked him on the lips and then hopped off the bed.  She rather kindly picked up the used condom from the nightstand and took it into the bathroom with her and then shut the door.  Jordan lay still for a moment, staring up at the white ceiling and enjoying the feeling of post-orgasmic bliss.  Then his stomach rumbled again and he got out of bed.  He slipped on a pair of clean boxers and a tank top and then walked into the kitchen to find the take out menu.  When he was done ordering, he turned and found Arella leaning against the kitchen entrance and watching him.

She was swimming in one of his dress shirts.  She’d rolled up the sleeves, but most of her arms were still covered and the tails went well past mid-thigh.  He was struck dumb by the sight of her in his clothes with her golden hair spilling around her shoulders is messy waves.  He’d done that to her.  He crossed the kitchen and picked her up princess style.  She let out a squeal of surprise and then lightly hit his shoulder when he laughed at her.  He sat down in one of the chairs in the breakfast nook with her in his lap and just kissed her.  And kept kissing her, feeling no need to ever stop.

They kissed on and off between a few giggles and teasing words.  Arousal was only a warm afterthought as the pleasure of holding each other and connecting emotionally occupied all of Jordan’s thoughts.  He wasn’t even going to think about how just two people hanging out weren’t supposed to connect emotionally.  They were interrupted by three sharp raps on the door.  Arella pulled away immediately and slid out of his lap.

“Food!”

Jordan laughed and walked over to the bookshelf he’d set his wallet on.  He opened it and only found a five in the billfold.

“Crap.”

“Aw, man, are you going to make me pay?”

“No, no.  I’ve got more cash in my bedroom.”

“You hide your cash in your sock drawer?”

“No,” Jordan said as he entered his bedroom.

“I’m going to answer the door.”

“Go ahead.”

Jordan flipped open the box he used to store his two watches and one pair of cuff links.  He picked up the insert and grabbed two twenties from the money clip inside.  Then he hurried back out to the front room, once again admiring Arella in his shirt as she stood at the open door.  He pulled the door opened wider so that he could pay the food delivery guy and found himself feeling like he’d been gut punched.

Ann stood in the hallway, her large dark eyes wide with the effort to keep the forming tears from falling down her cheeks.  She looked at Arella again and then tried to force a smile.

“I’m sorry.  I should have called first.”

Ann turned and started to walk away down the hall.  Jordan felt crushing guilt.  He felt his heart break as he watched Ann’s heart break.  He felt like scum—like he’d been caught cheating.  And then he was angry.  He marched out into the hallway after Ann.

“Hey, no, wait!  Ann!”

Ann stopped and turned around.

“Why are you here?  Why did you come here?”

“You—you weren’t answering my calls.  I wanted to talk.”

“Why?  You made it clear you didn’t want me anymore.”

She shrugged, tears slipping down her cheeks.  “I think I made a mistake.”

Jordan’s lips parted—he felt surprise, hurt, bitterness—hope.  Fucking hope.  Then he shook his head and let the anger come back.

“No.  No.  You don’t get to do this.  You don’t get to dump me and stomp all over my heart and then come here and make me feel guilty for not taking that as a sign that I was supposed to pine away and wait for you.”

“I—I don’t mean to make you feel guilty.  You’re right.  I didn’t—I don’t…I’m sorry, Jordan.  For the way I handled things.  And for coming here tonight.  I should have taken your hint.  I don’t think that you should have waited for me.  I wouldn’t have in your shoes.  I guess I just hoped that you—that we…”

Jordan shook his head.  “Don’t say it.  It’s not fair.”

Ann wiped her cheeks with her hands and sniffed.  “I couldn’t not come and at least try.”

“No, you didn’t have to come.  You chose your career over me.  Hell, I offered to move to Boston.  I would have gone.  I would have been happy.  I’m incredibly fucking adaptable.  But you thought of me as a con on your promotion list.  You thought of me as a nuisance, a distraction—that’s not what I want to be to someone.”

“You weren’t.  I didn’t think that.  I was scared that it was moving too fast.  Forcing you to leave your home and your family for someone you’d been dating for barely two months was nuts.”

Jordan opened his mouth.

“Don’t you dare reference Benson and Oska.  They are the exception to the rule.”

“We could have been too.”

Ann swallowed and looked down at the floor.  “Maybe we still can be.”

Jordan shook his head even though she couldn’t see him.  “I don’t know if I could trust you again.”

Ann flinched and Jordan wanted nothing more than to go to her and comfort her and tell her that he didn’t mean to be so harsh with her.  He was just angry and hurt and so fucking sad.  She finally looked up.

“I understand.  I’m sorry I bothered you.”

“Ann, you didn’t—”

He cut off as she turned and almost barreled into the Chinese food delivery guy.  She ran down the hall and took the stairs rather than wait for the elevator.  The delivery guy watched her go and then turned back to look at Jordan.  He looked beyond him to where Arella still stood in the doorway.

“Someone order Chinese?”

~~~

“Baby, I swear to you I didn’t know it was going to happen this fast.  I honestly didn’t think it would happen at all.  I thought they’d refuse him.  I didn’t mean to hide it from you.  I was just waiting to see if they would even approve it, and then I’d tell you while they settled the details.  I didn’t want to upset you if it turned out they said no outright.  Please, Oska…baby…”

Benson had been on the phone, explaining the same thing over and over for fifteen minutes, and Oska hadn’t said a word.  The only way Benson knew he was still there was because the line was connected and he could hear a tapping noise, like Oska was rhythmically tapping a pen or pencil on his desk.

“Fuck, Oska, say something.”

“What do you want me to say?”

Benson exhaled in relief.  He didn’t sound happy, but Oska’s voice was welcome after such a long, strained silence.

“Please tell me you know I wasn’t trying to hide this from you.  Or lie to you.  I wasn’t planning this behind your back.  Pak said—”

“I know.  You’ve told me five times what he said.  The first conversation made it seem like it was a complete impossibility.  I get it.”

“But…you’re still angry.”

“No, Benson, angry is not a strong enough word.”

Benson winced.  His voice was so flat and emotionless.

“What do you want me to say?” Oska continued in the same tone.  “You’re going to go whether I want you to or not.  I’m not okay with you agreeing to do it even though you want me to be.  What could I possibly say that won’t end up with us screaming hurtful things at each other?”

“Just tell me you know I didn’t do this with devious intent.”

“I believe that you believe that.”

“Oska…”

“Don’t go, Benson.  The only way out of this fight is for you to not go.  I am pulling the ‘if you really love me you won’t do this’ card.  I’ve played my hand.  Your move.”

Benson leaned forward on the kitchen table and put his face in his hand.  His chest was too tight and his stomach felt nauseated and his face hurt from trying to hold back his tears.

“Oska…I have to do this…”

“Then do it.”

The tapping stopped and Benson knew Oska had ended the call.  He slumped onto the table and let himself sob.  He didn’t even know why he was crying.  He was more angry and annoyed that Oska wouldn’t understand why he had to do it than he was hurt by the fight.  He was upset he supposed.  That must be it.  So he sobbed at the kitchen table.  Charlie was on her belly a few feet away, slowly inching closer, but she stopped just short of him.  Her ears were back and she trembled slightly as she watched him.  Benson didn’t have it in him to reach out and comfort her.  He would have been content to cry until he fell asleep and shut out the world, but he had to pack an overnight bag and get ready for a 3:00am wake up call.  He had a job to do and he couldn’t wallow in a puddle of his hurt feelings.

He sat up and waited nearly ten minutes for his body to calm down and the tears to dry up.  He blew his nose and then picked up the phone to call Emma to ask about dog sitting.  By the time he had to answer Emma’s friendly enthusiasm, he sounded like it was any other Thursday.

**Friday, August 7, 2014**

 

Russ yawned loudly, his wrist shackles clanking softly as he used a hand to cover his mouth.  “Sheesh.  Why do you think they decided to do this so early?”

“Probably just to piss you off,” Benson said tonelessly and looked out the airplane window.

He was in the aisle seat, so he couldn’t see very well out the windows on the other side of the plane, but the view was definitely better.  Russ sat in the window seat and fortunately there was a third seat in between them.  Russ was shackled at the wrists, waist, and ankles and then chained to both the floor of the plane and the seat he sat in.  The security company the state of Oregon had hired was outrageously expensive, but he supposed if they were buying private planes so that they could modify them for prisoner transport then they were getting their money’s worth.

“Not a morning person, Benson?”

Benson ignored him.

“I swear, the service from this airline is terrible.  Aren’t we even going to get any peanuts?”

He laughed at his own joke and Benson leaned more on his arm, practically putting his torso in the aisle.

“What’s wrong, Benson?”

Benson scowled and ignored the look of pity one of the air marshals sent in his direction.

“Come on, Agent Remick.  I know you’re not happy to be here and you don’t like me, blah, blah.  But you’re moodier than usual.  Something happened.  What was it?”

He closed his eyes, trying to actively stop thoughts of Oska from entering his consciousness.  He didn’t like to think about Oska when Russ was so near.

“Look, if you don’t talk to me, I won’t talk to you.”

“That sounds like a great fucking idea,” one of the guards from the security firm said.

“No,” Benson said, repressing a sigh.  “He doesn’t just mean for the flight, he means for the trip.  If I don’t entertain him, he won’t take us to the storage unit.”

He looked over at Russ and the man was gazing at him with a soft smile.

“You’re so clever, Benson.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“The case I was working on blew up in my face.  We lost our source and half the evidence is inadmissible.  I got yelled at by my SSA and they told me that if this trip is a bust they’re going to put me on an admin squad until I retire.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound fun.  Don’t worry, I’ll help you.  The last thing you should be doing is pushing paper around.  Of course white collar crime is beneath you.  You ought to be on full time serial killer duty.  Fly around the country taking point on every case.”

“That’s TV bullshit and you know it, Russ.”

“Yeah, well, maybe TV has the right idea.”

“Who are the other people in the Elton cellar?”

“What?”

“The cellar in Elton.  There were more trophies and samples than there were Angel Slayer victims.  You won’t tell us who they are and it’s stupid.  You’re not going to get out of this with an insanity plea.  You know that.  And hell, even if you are found not guilty by reason of insanity, you will still be locked away for the rest of your life in a maximum security psychiatric facility for the criminally insane.  What difference does it make?”

“There’s a huge difference between a psych ward and a maximum security prison.”

Benson looked away again.  That was true.  Russ would be more comfortable and at least 30% less likely to be raped.

“Come on, Benson.  I keep telling you you’re clever.  Are you going to make me into a liar?”

Benson looked at him.  “Do you expect an answer to that that isn’t me punching you in the face?”

Russ grinned.  “I’d love to have a physical fight with you.  A fair fight though.  No chains.  And we probably wouldn’t be fighting, would we?  There'd be biting and nails and rolling around aggressively, but it'd be because you’d be screaming for me like the cockslut you are.”

“Shut the fuck up, you psycho!” the air marshal behind them shouted.  “No one asked to hear about your faggy fantasies.  Leave the guy alone.”

“Oh, did you hear that?” Russ whispered conspiratorially, but loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.  “Faggy fantasies.  I don’t think the air marshal there is fond of queers.  If he knew about your proclivities…you think he’d shake my hand if I gutted your fudge packing ass?”

“Uh, um, um—” the air marshal stammered.  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t—”

“Oh, he’s sorry now.  I doubt it.  You can hear the trace of an accent in his voice.  Such a southern cliché: the redneck wants all them unnatural queerboys to die.”

“I do not!”

“Stop engaging him, Marshal,” Benson said.

“Yeah, I’m busy.  Imagining Benson and me fucking on your bloody corpse.”

“Russ,” Benson snapped.  “Enough.  If I get you a bag of peanuts will you shut the fuck up?”

“No.”

Benson sighed in annoyance and stood up anyway to get the bag of cashews out of his carry on bag.  He sat down and crunched on the nuts sulkily, concentrating on the salt.

“Do you know how much fat are in those?” Russ asked.

“Russ, I swear to God I will serve you nothing but hotdogs with sauerkraut on them if you keep this up.”

Russ slumped down in his chair, sulking.  Benson knew about Russ’ dislike of that particular food due to a conversation at the Elton police department one night when the topic of “the most disgusting thing I ever ate” came up.  Even before he knew Russ was a loser and a psychopath he’d thought it had been a lame answer.

“Tell me about the other trophies,” Benson tried again.

“I did, Benson.  If I couldn’t set up a permanent base somewhere, wouldn’t I bring souvenirs back?”

Benson turned to look at him.  “The Lubbock kills.”

Russ shrugged.  “I also took a vacation to Thailand once.”

 

Russ complained about not having cabin service for five hours.  The air marshals were more than happy to hand him off to the Portland FBI and Oregon State Patrol.  The security team rochambeaued to determine who had to ride in the van with him and Benson to Green Falls.  He sang "Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall" the whole trip.  He had to go through the song three and a half times.  The security team begged to take a break from him before they set off for the storage unit.  Everyone agreed they all needed a break and Russ was put in a holding cell at the Green Falls police department with no less than four armed guards watching him at all times.

Benson had made some cursory greetings and then run off to find a bathroom.  When he’d come out, he’d asked a young rookie if he could use one of their interview rooms and had been led to a small, square space that provided him the first real quiet he’d had in about ten hours.

He sat in a hard metal chair and breathed deeply.  He continued the soothing motions until he felt somewhat centered again, and then looked up at the door.  He didn’t want to go back out there.  He had a wall up in his mind, but there was chaos he desperately trying to ignore behind it.  He couldn’t focus if he had to constantly worry about cracks in the wall.  He pulled his phone out of his pocket.  It was about 3:00pm on the east coast.  Past lunch and before dinner, but sometimes they had been let out of class early on Fridays.  Particularly toward the end of the training.  Benson took a chance and called Oska.

“Hello, Benson.”

The immediate tension between them had him sitting rigidly and clutching his phone so hard it hurt his hand.

“I’m kind of surprised you were willing to answer," Benson confessed softly.

“Well, ignoring you would be petty.  We’re going to be together for the rest of our lives.  We can’t just—not talk.”

“It makes me happy to hear you say that.  That we’ll still be together forever.  No doubts, even though you’re angry.”

“I’m scared, Benson.  I'm fucking terrified more than anything.”

Benson sat up a little straighter—clarity suddenly coming to his mind.  The emotion stronger than anger…He’d been so messed up inside because he didn’t want Oska to be mad at him.  He couldn’t stand to make Oska feel that way.  And while he probably was a little ticked off, that’s not why Oska was so violently opposed to Benson interacting with Russ.  And this fear went beyond rationality.  This fear was borne out of experience.

“Oh, Oska…what did he do to you?”

He was greeted with silence.

“Oska, my heart, please.  You need to admit something is wrong.  You need help.  And I think you need someone who isn’t me to talk to about it.”

There were shuffling sounds on the other end.  And then Oska’s voice came over the line sounding thin and scared and tired.

“Okay.  Okay.  I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.  I promise.”

Benson exhaled in relief.  “Baby, I’ll be back tonight, hopefully, and I’ll come see you.”

“They won’t let you onto base that late.”

“Tomorrow then.  Tomorrow.”

“Okay.”  A snuffling sound, like Oska was rubbing his nose, tickled his ear.  “And you keep using baby.  Couldn’t think of something else?”

“Snuggle bunny?  Precious?”

“I liked ‘my heart.’”

“You can’t moan ‘my heart’ during sex.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t know.”

“Yeah, I do.”

Oska let out a small laugh and internally Benson made a fist pump set to bad 90’s music that ended in a freeze frame.

“So, how has it been so far?”

“Well…it’s not the most fun I’ve ever had in a day.  Russ sang ‘Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall’ all the way from the airport to Green Falls.”

“He did not.”

“He did.  For two and a half hours because we got stuck in construction traffic.”

Oska’s laugh this time was more pitying.  “Okay, now I actually do feel kind of sorry for you.  You didn’t bring that on yourself by agreeing to this.”

“Well, thanks for that at least,” Benson said wryly.

“Benson, I’ve gotta run.  We were just taking a break from class and everyone else has already gone back in.”

“Ah, okay.  Oska, I’ll be fine.  Russ will be secured the whole time.  And we will talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.  Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Benson hung up and clasped the phone in both hands, and then he lowered his forehead to his fingers.  He exhaled in a rush.  They still had some things to work out, but his mind was finally clear.  There was a part of him that really didn’t like another person having this much power over him, but Oska only had it because Benson gave it to him willingly.  He looked up at the interview room door.  Russ was on the other side somewhere.  Russ who had done something to Oska.  Russ—who would be lucky if he made it back to Virginia with all of his body parts still attached.

Benson returned to the bullpen and was met by a man about his age who had wavy brown hair and dimples.  He stuck out his hand enthusiastically, and Benson shook it, still not sure who he was meeting.

“I’m sorry I missed you coming in.  I’m Detective Kyle Darcy.  I really appreciate you coming out here, Agent Remick.”

“I’m happy to do it if we can get this killer off the streets.”

He nodded and kind of looked like he was playing dress up in his sheriff outfit.  He actually had a metal star clipped to his chest.  Benson felt a little self-conscious about his plain shield clipped to his belt.  He wanted a star.

“So, are we ready to head out there?  We’ve got a squad car that Russ will ride in the back of and give us directions.  You and I will take him in that car.  Three of my units, two state patrol, and four agents from Portland will follow us.”

“Okay.  What’s the plan for when we get there?  Will we leave him in the vehicle while we wait for the warrant?  Should we bring him back immediately?”

“Oh, no wait, Agent Remick.”  He pointed to an older man in a tan Member’s Only jacket looking disgruntled about being stuck amongst a bunch of police riffraff.  “We’re bringing a judge with us.”

Benson nodded, impressed.  “Nice.  Alright, let’s go then.  No sense in dragging this out.”

The caravan assembled in the parking lot and four guards marched Russ out to the squad car.  He went everywhere he was told to without a fuss and always moved and offered his limbs in such a way as to make it easier for the guards to transfer him from place to place.  Being shut up in the tight space of the squad car made Benson feel a little uncomfortable.  There was a metal barrier between the front and back seats, but he didn’t like having Russ behind him.  It made his hair stand on end.

“Where we going?” Sheriff Darcy asked.

“Do you know the storage facility that’s just off the highway on the west side of the city?  It’s pretty isolated, just past a brick yard and...an Exxon, I think it is.”

“Pay-to-Store?”

“That’s the one.”

Darcy looked at Benson.  “You know, we don’t really need him now.”

“You don’t know which unit,” Russ said tetchily.

Benson sighed and nodded his head for the sheriff to head on.  He radioed to two of his cruisers where they were going and told them to take point.  Darcy pulled out after the two police cruisers and the rest of the caravan followed.  Benson stared straight ahead and tried not to fidget.

“Why Green Falls?” Darcy asked.  “Why did you come here and terrorize our town?”

“I didn’t do anything to you.  One of your own crazy citizens did that.”

“You didn’t kill a single person out here?  The Green Falls Killer is really just one man?”

“Benson, he’s boring me.”

“You bore me, Russ.  Consider us even.”

“It’s not too late for me to fuck this up and send you to admin hell for the rest of your life.”

Benson sighed again.  “Why did you pick Green Falls, Russ?”

“Familiarity.  Isolation.  A population full of sinners.”

Darcy let out a snort.

“Familiarity?” Benson asked.  “How so?”

“My father lived out here.  Every summer my sisters and I had to come visit him for about a month.  He took us fishing at Lake Splendid.  It really is aptly named.  If you have time you should see it, Benson.”

“You really should,” Darcy chimed in.  “It’s spectacular.”

Benson gave the chipper sheriff a mildly amused side-eyed glance.  “I don’t think I’ll have time this trip.”

“Well, you can always come back.  You’ll probably get a hero’s parade.  We’ll set you up in the only suite in town.”

“There’s a suite in Green Falls?”

“Well, it’s the best room at Penelope’s Bed & Breakfast.  Sure beats the HoJo down the way.”

“You know, I gotta say I'm pretty surprised by your positive attitude, Sheriff.”

“Why’s that?  We’re on our way to catch the monster that’s been terrorizing this town—this whole area—for years.  These storage facilities require that a valid form of identification be provided for long time storage.  I doubt he has any forged documents.  We’ll find out the guy’s name tonight.  We also kept this whole thing a secret.  Not that he’s coming—the governor blasted all over the media that he’s ‘taking a stand’ and ‘doing what the police aren’t willing to do’—but I don’t see that arrogant fuckface here with us, now is he?  Anyway.  All of Oregon knows the Angel Slayer is coming here to show us to the killer’s lair.  They just think he’s not coming until next week.  The killer may think he has time to clear out the storage shed.  Heck.  Maybe we’ll find him there tonight.”

“When was the announcement made?”

“Mm, not until late last night.  He couldn’t have come here before today,” Darcy said confidently.

“It’s a twenty-four hour facility,” Russ said.  “He could have come last night and emptied the place.”

Benson’s stomach sloshed uneasily.

“But he didn’t.  He’s a moron," Russ said disdainfully.

Darcy snorted again.  “You don’t speak highly of your so-called ‘disciples.’”

“He’s not a disciple, he’s a tool.  There’s a difference.”

“So…do you keep a tool and a disciple everywhere you kill?  You’ll give us the tool but protect the disciple?”

“No,” Russ said, looking out the window.

“He didn’t have a disciple in Elton,” Benson said.  “Hannigan was a tool and he was the only one.”

“Are you sure?” Russ asked.  “The thief is the only victim who survived.  Maybe that whole scene was staged.”

“If you called him by his name rather than ‘the thief’ I might believe you.”

“Maybe that’s why Oska dumped you.  Once suspicion was off him for good, he didn’t need to manipulate you for any more information.”

Benson didn’t answer, knowing his silence would be interpreted by Russ as doubt and worry.

After another two minutes, they pulled off the highway and traveled down an isolated road to a large climate controlled storage facility.  Benson and Darcy got out of the car, but left Russ in the backseat until the officers and troopers were in place surrounding the car.  The four Portland agents were all vying to be the one who stood closest to Benson.  He didn’t know if he found that flattering or weird.

The front desk of the storage facility was manned by a kid probably no older than nineteen who was reading a graphic novel at the counter.  When he spotted the entourage, his eyes nearly popped out of his head and his jaw flapped a bit.

“H-here?  It’s here?  Which one—”  He cut off as his eyes settled on the chained man in the center of the heavily armed circle of men.  “Holy shit.”

“Brixton?” Benson tried to get the kid’s attention by saying the name on the tag pinned to his shirt.  “Do you have the keys to all of the storage units?”

He nodded, eyes still glued to Russ.  He held up his hand and a few keys dangled from an orange stretchy curl of plastic around his wrist.  “I’ve got a skeleton key.”

“Come with us then.  Russ, where to?”

“Second floor, west side of the building.”

“What’s the unit number?”

“I don’t remember.  I just remember where it is.”

“Stop being a pain in the ass.”

“I mean it.  I don’t know the number.  I didn’t buy it.  I don’t pay for it.  I’ve just been here before so I remember where we went.  I think.”

Benson turned on him and gave him a hard look.  Russ put his hands up.

“No, I remember, I remember.  I’m pretty certain I remember.  It is definitely on the second floor.”

Everyone trooped upstairs and Russ looked around the hallways.

“These halls are color coded, right?” Russ asked as he looked at the kid.

The kid stared dumbly back at him.  Benson snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Brixton.  Are the halls colored coded?”

“Y-y—color?  Oh, yeah.  Color coded.  Cardinal directions.”

“Where are the purple ones?”

“North side.”

“Let’s go north,” Russ said.

The large group proceeded through the halls with Brixton leading them to the north wing.  Once there Russ nodded his head.

“Yes, I remember.  This way.”  He led them down a wide hallway past several units and then seemed to stop at random in front of unit 281.  He indicated with his cuffed hands at the large, metal door.  “This one.”

“Are you positive?” Benson asked.

“I’m certain.  And I’m not lying.”

Benson searched his eyes for a moment, and then figured he had nothing to lose if this took a Geraldo turn.  He wasn’t the one who arranged this thing.

“Who has the warrant?”

One of the Green Falls officers stepped forward.

“Brixton, please give him the exact name and address of this location and how you identify this specific unit.”

The kid gave the officer some information, who then filled out the warrant on the back of another officer.  Darcy then took it to the judge.

“We already filled out what we expect to find.  Can you sign it, judge?”

The man signed on the back of the same officer who was destined to be everyone’s writing desk and then gave a nod to the group.

“Open it up.”

Benson turned to the kid.  “Can you unlock the door please?”

The Pay-to-Store employee trembled as he approached the wide door.  The padlock rattled in his hand.  It took a couple of tries for him to get the key in the lock.  He hesitated and looked back at Benson, positively stricken.

“There’s not a dead body in here, is there?”

Benson stepped forward and turned the key for him.  The padlock sprung open and he pulled it off the door.  Darcy stepped forward and bent down to help him raise the corrugated metal door up into the ceiling.  It was dark inside.  The dim lighting from the hallway didn’t do much to illuminate the contents, though Benson could tell it wasn’t empty.

“Are there lights in these units?” Benson asked.

“On the wall on the left,” Russ said.

Benson stepped forward and felt blindly on the wall.  He started when his hand hit something heavy and rectangular that swung when he touched it instead of a light switch.  He grabbed the metal box and felt around until he found the large button in the center of it.  He pressed the button.  With a few rapid clicks and the hum of high lumen fluorescents, several large, very bright fixtures on shoulder-high stands flooded the room with light.

It was set up like the cellar in Elton, with rows of shelves that held jars with pieces of human bodies preserved in a liquid.  Next to each jar was a piece of clothing or jewelry.  There were four shelves, three of which were full and the fourth had two jars on it.  Unlike Elton there was a lot more room around the shelves and it was filled with bookshelves and a table with a chair.  The bookshelves contained notebooks with names and years marked on them.  The table had a few tools on it and a laptop.

“Have fun,” Russ said.

“Waller,” Darcy said, “get on the horn and get the forensic team down here.  They’re waiting on standby.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Danvers, take Brixton to his computer and find out who owns this unit.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Agents,” Darcy addressed the Portland agents.  “How would you like to proceed?  Wait for forensics or do you want to want to begin looking for anything that might suggest where the Singh girl might be?”

The agents and other officers had a small debate that Benson was not asked to be a part of.  He didn’t mind.  Most everyone, including the judge, had edged inside the room and were looking around like they were at Ripley’s Believe It or Not.  He stood just outside the entrance on one side and Russ leaned against the wall on the other.  There was about eight feet of space between them and no one else was around Russ, but Benson wasn’t worried about him running.  Aside from the fact that he wasn’t capable of more than shuffling in his chains—he’d had to be practically carried up the stairs because he couldn’t lift his foot high enough to reach each step—Benson got the impression that Russ didn’t want to run.  He had an agenda, but escape wasn’t it.

“Oh wow,” Darcy said, looking through one of the binders.  “He’s detailed every single step of his process.  From victim selection to learning their schedules to abduction techniques to holding sites to kill sites to dump sites.  He’s got three or four backup plans for every step, plausible stories if people see him certain places.  He’s even developed algorithms that make records online that make it look like he was at certain places at certain times.  I don’t think we ever would have caught this guy without Little rolling on him.  This may truly be a case of the student surpassing the master.”

Benson raised an eyebrow at that comment and turned to look at Russ, expecting to find him furious or plotting Darcy’s strangulation.  Instead Russ caught his eye and shrugged his lips while he gave a little shake of his head like he and Benson were in together on a joke.  Benson narrowed his eyes.  A narcissist never brushed off insults.

The sound of metal keys hitting the concrete floor drew Benson’s attention.  He looked down the hallway behind him and saw a young man picking up his keys.  He gave Benson a nod and began to unlock the padlock on the unit he was standing in front of.  Benson turned to the interior of unit 281.  He needed to tell Darcy that they needed to get the whole building shut down to the public before forensics showed up.  The sheriff was busy showing something in one of the notebooks to one of the Portland agents.  Benson felt a little bad that he couldn’t remember which one was which, but they all had similar faces and generic Anglo-Saxon surnames.

“Et-hmm.”

Benson looked back at Russ as he was the one who had made the fake throat clearing sound.  He was nodding his head forward and to the side.  Benson could feel that his face was pulled into confusion.  Russ widened his eyes and nodded again, this time clearly indicating something behind him.  Benson turned and saw that the young man who had dropped his keys was disappearing around the corner.  He hadn’t opened his storage unit, he’d just left.  Maybe he'd noticed the police and hadn't wanted to stay.  Benson turned back to Russ and the man was giving him a look of exasperation.

Oh, fuck.

Benson turned and took off down the hall at a dead sprint.  He skidded across the floor as he reached the end so that he could make the corner.  The fact that he’d suddenly checked his speed might have been the only thing that saved his life.  The knife slashed the air just in front of his face—where his neck would have been if he’d maintained speed.  He pulled back out of instinct and threw his elbow hard into the face of the man.  It caught him right between the temple and right eye and he stumbled back, dropping his knife.  Benson pounced on him in half a heartbeat and had no trouble securing his scrawny arms behind his back.

“Sheriff,” Benson heard Russ say, “Agent Remick could use your help.”

“What?  Why the fuck are you alone?  Why is no one over—Agent Remick!  What’s happening?!”

Feet pounded down the hall as every officer and agent descended on him and his prisoner with guns drawn.  Only one guard was bringing up the rear as he was hindered by Russ’ slow shuffle.

“What’s going on here?” the sheriff asked.

The man underneath Benson’s knee screamed and kicked his feet on the floor.  Not like he was trying to escape, but like a three year old having a tantrum.

“This man attacked me with a knife,” Benson said.  “And I think we’ll find that he’s the owner of storage unit 281.”

Everyone began murmuring and talking to each other like people do when they think something needs to be said but don’t know what to say.  When the last guard finally got close enough for the man on the floor to see Russ, he started wailing loudly.  He screamed so loud that everyone else stopped talking.  Amongst the wails a few word could be discerned.  Mainly “why,” Russ’ name, and something about following or obeying exactly.  Russ shuffled forward a couple of steps and then squatted down to be closer to the man.  He stopped screaming immediately and Benson wanted to stand so he wouldn’t have to be so near Russ’ face, but he didn’t want to take his weight off the suspect.

“Because,” Russ said calmly.  “You didn’t send me a card in prison.  How was I supposed to know you cared?”

The man began to let out a pitiful, whining cry and dropped his head to the cement.  He sobbed softly and all the fight went out of him.  Benson looked at Russ and clenched his teeth.

Russ had gotten a lot of mail in prison.  A lot.  But then, most serial killers attracted the attention of curious weirdos, authors and script writers, journalists, and lonely women.  Benson had been informed that one woman had written Russ over thirty sexually explicit letters, but they’d never been given to him because the inmates weren’t allowed to possess pornography.  All of his mail was opened and read before it was passed on to him, and Benson was pretty certain that someone would have pointed out if former disciples were contacting Russ.  Or at least identifying themselves as such.  It was possible that most of the people that had ever worked with Russ had been sending him letters.  They potentially had the names, fingerprints, and DNA of all his disciples.  Well, maybe the tools that were stupid enough to use their real names and not wear gloves.  Benson did not want to go through the stacks and stacks of Russ’ fan mail.

Benson looked away from the back of the as of yet unnamed tool.  He found himself looking Russ in the eyes.  The man was looking at him calmly, expectantly.  Benson wasn’t sure what he wanted.  Praise?  A “well done” and a slap on the back?

“Sir?  We can take him now.”

Benson looked up and saw a uniformed officer offering him a hand up.  Benson accepted it and then two officers reached down and hauled the man up.  They recited his rights to him, but he was still crying dejectedly and casting pitiful looks in Russ’ direction.  The man could have been a speck of chipped paint flaked off on the floor for all Russ noticed him.

“Well, this the very definition of a red letter day," Darcy said.  "To be quite frank it’s a little anticlimactic, but I’ll take it.  There’s no sense keeping Little here any longer than he needs to be.  Danvers and Waller, I’m going to leave you two here to keep the scene secure.  I’d prefer if at least two of you,” he said to the four Portland agents, “stayed with them so that we can back each other’s agencies up that nothing was contaminated.  The rest are going to escort Little and whoever this sad fuck is back to the station.  We’ll transfer Little back to the security team and the state troopers and get him out of our hair.  Then we’ll be able to focus on booking…”

“Diaz.  Josef Diaz,” Danvers said.  “That’s who owns the storage locker anyway.”

“Fantastic.  Diaz.  Let’s get him out of here.”

The two Green Falls officers and two of the Portland agents returned to the storage unit.  The forensics team was just arriving in the parking lot when the rest of the group made it outside.  Little was put into the back of Darcy’s squad car and Diaz into another.  Benson waited outside the car while Darcy talked to the head of the forensics team.  He also stopped his forensic psychologist from going upstairs to examine the storage unit so that he could be on hand to interview Diaz if the man agreed to talk without a lawyer.  They still had the pressing issue of determining if the missing local girl was his latest victim.

When everyone had their marching orders, Benson got into the police cruiser with Russ at his back.  It was just coming up on three o’clock local time.  That was plenty of time to drive back to the Redmond airport and get on a plane back home.  They’d get in around two or three in the morning east coast time, but Benson didn’t care.  He wanted to go home and he wanted Russ back behind maximally secured bars.  Not that he didn’t think the Green Falls police weren’t doing a stellar job, but he liked the fact that Russ’ prison had snipers and barbed wire and trained attack dogs.

When they got to the station the place was buzzing with activity.  Apparently word had gotten back that not only had the storage unit turned out to be legit, but that they’d caught the killer.  Every on and off duty employee in Green Falls who weren’t working the storage unit crime scene were pretending to do work somewhere in the vicinity of the bullpen.  There was a smattering of cheers when Diaz was brought in, but then people looked like around like they weren’t sure what the appropriate response was.  It also could have been that the madman they’d been chasing for years turned out to be a skinny, greasy-haired crybaby with snot running down his face.  He was hardly an intimidating figure as he collapsed miserably onto a cot in the holding cell.

The head of Mooreland Security was trying to talk loudly enough over the din of noise in the room for Benson to hear him.  He wasn’t excited about the prospect of escorting Russ home immediately and wanted to wait another day.  Benson tried to convince him that it would be better to just get it over and done with.  He had the man half-convinced they should go since the Green Falls PD's only holding cell was currently occupied.  Benson didn’t want to leave Russ and Diaz together even if they were constantly monitored.  Currently Russ was hanging out in the bullpen in between two Mooreland guards, watching the manic bustle around him with uninterested eyes.

Sheriff Darcy yelled out some instructions to a couple other people and then waved two more out the door.  He stopped by Benson on his way out.

“Agent Remick, I don’t know what you did, but I can’t thank you enough for doing it.  Like I said, if you ever want a free stay in the best suite in Green Falls, it’s yours for life whenever you come.”

Benson smiled tiredly.  “I am getting married at the end of the month.”

“Yeah?”  Darcy’s expression was oddly surprised.  Then he smiled.  “Well, congratulations.  You’re always welcome in Green Falls.  I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of my deputy.  He’ll be able to work out arrangements for you if you decide to stay overnight.  I’m going to head back to the scene.”

“Of course.  Good luck, Sheriff.  I don’t envy you the circus you’re going to have around here for the next several days if not weeks.”

Darcy sighed.  “Tell me about it.  I don’t even want to think about what it’ll be like when the media gets wind of this.  Well, if you do leave this afternoon and I don’t see you again…” he held out his hand and Benson shook it.  “Thank you again for your help and flying out last minute.  Especially now knowing we snatched you away from a fiancé.”

“What we accomplished today is well worth it.”

“I agree, Agent Remick.  Have a safe journey home.”

Benson nodded to Sheriff Darcy and turned back to the Mooreland security guard.

“I’ve stolen enough of your time.”

Benson opened his mouth to plead his case one more time, but something about Darcy’s parting words made him stop.  He looked at Russ.  The man was watching him passively.  He probably hadn’t even heard what Darcy had said over all the racket.  Hell, Benson had barely heard it.  He turned back around.  Darcy had turned away toward the exit, but he turned back when he sensed Benson move.  He stared at Benson from five feet away.  Benson started to raise his hand.  He didn’t even know what he was going to do with it, but Darcy saw the movement and reacted.

The sheriff pulled his gun out of the holster and grabbed a young woman with an arm across her clavicles as he backed up toward a wall.  Not everyone noticed right away, but slowly the room became aware of the situation.  Most people were in shock at seeing their sheriff holding a gun to the head of one of their own.  One officer drew his gun, and then suddenly everyone had their weapons drawn.  People starting shouting to calm down and to put their weapons away and to find out what the fuck was going on.

Benson felt his own gun in his hand, but he didn’t have it raised.  Darcy was staring at Benson, but when he spoke he addressed Russ and everyone listened.

“You son of bitch.  You set me up.  You knew he’d know.  You _knew_ he’d know!  You think you’re so clever and always in control, but in reality you’re just a fucking spoiled brat who’s mad he didn’t get his way.”

Darcy took a step toward the exit.

“Don’t move!” a rookie cop shouted.

Everyone in the room tensed and started shouting again.

“You’re _nothing_ Russ!  You got caught first!  You gave into your desires the way you always said not to.  You lost because you broke your own rules and now you’re going to take me down because I stopped following them?!  Your rules are _bullshit_.  I did three on my own.  Without you.  I didn’t need your help and they never even found them!  Never would have if you hadn’t shown what a bitchy little attention whore you are.”

“Darcy, I don’t know what’s going on,” the deputy said, “but you need to put the gun down and we need to sort this out.”

“Shut up, you fat fuck,” Darcy spat, his face contorted to uncontrolled rage.  “I was doing your slut daughter next.  I built a special fucking toy just for her.  You wouldn’t have recognized her goddamned face when I was through with her.”

The silence in the police station was a crazy loud thing filled with shock, disbelief, and that panic that accompanies the wish to wake up from a nightmare.  The woman Darcy held whimpered softly.

“Hush.  You don’t want to set off my temper.”

She bit her lip and two silent tears fell from her eyes.  Darcy took another step toward the exit and everyone shifted and tightened their grip on their weapons.

“Unh-uh!  No one move!”  Darcy didn’t move the gun from the girl’s head, but he turned to look at the people to his left.  “None of you are—”

The crack of the gunshot was made louder by the heavy walls and low ceiling of the police station.  The gun fell from Darcy’s hand and the woman screamed and ran away as he crumpled to the floor, his brain matter and blood sprayed across the stark white wall.

Benson lowered his weapon.  Everyone stood motionless, not one person knowing what to do.  Finally the deputy walked over to him and Benson surrendered his gun.  It was procedure.  As soon as the first step was taken, everyone in the office began the practiced motions of their trade as law enforcement.  Everyone except the Mooreland Security team who had no other job but to watch Russ, which they didn’t do particularly well since the man had made it nearly fifteen feet across the bullpen to stand behind Benson.  Russ rested his chin on Benson’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Benson.  I couldn’t have taken him out without you.”

 

 

**Saturday, August 7, 2014**

 

Oska checked his phone again.  He hadn’t spoken to Benson since he had called him from the Green Falls police station yesterday afternoon.  The news that the Green Falls Killer and his accomplice had been captured was all over the TV and radio morning shows.  Especially the news that one of the killers had been a cop who had taken a hostage and subsequently been shot.  No one was reported as being hurt or dead other than the killer, but that didn’t do a whole lot to soothe Oska’s frayed nerves.  He’d received a text from Benson last night telling him that he was okay, but something had come up and he wouldn’t be able to come home until Saturday.  That had been before he’d heard the news.  After hearing it, “something came up” was not an acceptable explanation of the situation and he was going to tear Benson a new one the next time they spoke.

He wasn’t going to bother him though.  He knew Benson would call or text if he could, so there was no point pestering him while he tried to deal with the Green Falls fallout.  That would only delay him getting home.  So, he would be patient.  No matter how much he hated it.  Even if it meant taking his irritation and fear-induced anger out on everyone around him.  He’d snapped at Del so many times earlier that morning that even the mild-mannered Texan had given up on trying to be friendly and left the dorm to let Oska stew by himself.

By noon Oska couldn’t take sitting in his dorm room waiting for Benson to contact him, so he left thinking he might as well get lunch because that’s what people did at noon.  He wasn’t hungry—even though he hadn’t eaten breakfast—and found himself heading to the gym.  He wasn’t in the regulation grey top and navy bottoms exercise clothes, but he was in sweats and a T-shirt and was willing to risk getting reprimanded by a senior agent.

Oska went directly to a treadmill and didn’t even bother to stretch.  He started up the machine and began running at a fast clip, staring straight ahead at the wall.  He preferred to run outside, but today he didn’t want to have to worry about paying attention to where he was going or watching out for cars.  He just wanted to run and clear his mind.

It worked at first.  He could feel his mind racing around, trying to find something to focus on, but nothing was in the forefront.  Eventually his mind calmed, so he ran and ran—and then his subconscious came out to play.  He thought about Benson.  He thought about touching him, kissing him, getting him to make those little noises that embarrassed him but drove Oska crazy.  Oska liked it—so he did it even though Benson didn’t like it.  He pushed him and teased him.  He made him do things that he didn’t want to do.  He forced him.  Because he was selfish.  Because he wanted Benson for himself, to do things for him, to be an object that he could keep and use however he liked.  Even if Benson didn’t like it.  Even if he fought against it.  He just looked prettier when he was crying and being held down.

Oska slammed his hand down on the emergency stop button and jumped onto the edges of the machine.  He leaned forward, struggling for breath.  He squeezed the railings as hard he could to keep himself from screaming at the voice in his head.  It wasn’t his voice.  It _wasn’t_ his.  He knew it wasn’t.  He stayed on the machine until he caught his breath then walked on wobbly legs along one wall.  He caught his reflection in the mirrors and eyed himself as he lurched toward the exit.  He stopped just short of the door and faced himself.

He stared at himself, taking in the parts, but not seeing the whole.  He could see teeth that could break skin.  He could see hands that could tear.  He could see a chest that could heave with pleasured exertion.  He could see eyes that could be alight with desire at the thought of destroying something good.  He saw someone who could use his body to violate, to torture, to humiliate.  Someone who got off on it.  He was looking in a mirror, but he was looking at Russ.

_Look at you…what if Benson could see you now?_

Oska attacked the specter.  It broke up and dissipated.  Oska could tell that he was panting again even though he wasn’t running anymore.  He kept expecting to see his own reflection again, but all he saw was a brown cardboard rectangle breaking up the wall of mirrors.

“Oska?  Are you okay?”

Oska turned and saw Del standing at the door.  His face was a mask of surprise and concern.  Seeing his roommate snapped him out of his fugue state.  Oska looked back at the wall of mirrors and saw the shattered glass and the ten pound free weight he’d thrown at the mirror on the floor.  Oh, shit.  This could get him dismissed from class.  Del walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“What happened?” Del asked softly.

Oska met his eyes, but didn’t know how to answer him.

“What’s going on in here?” a deep voice bellowed.

Three other people came into the room, including a senior agent who was one of their primary evaluators.  Oska’s heart leapt to his throat.  It wasn’t just a simple ingrained reaction to getting in trouble, he suddenly realized how much he wanted to be an agent.  He didn’t want to lose this chance.  He didn’t want—

“I said what happened?” Cooper asked, putting his hands on his waist and looking at the mess on the floor.

“I’m sorry sir,” Del said.  “I broke the mirror.”

“How’d you manage that?” the man asked, frowning.

“I was using the free weights and when I went to put them back I misjudged the distance and totally slammed one into the mirror.  I can’t believe it shattered like that.  Like, maybe crack, but I’m so sorry, sir.  It just, like, exploded.  Oska was nearby.  Oska, I didn’t get you with any glass, did I?”

Oska looked at Del, his brain processing everything about three seconds late.

“Um…”

Del took both of Oska’s wrists in his and raised his arms, putting on a show looking him over for cuts.

“I’m really sorry, Oska.  I should have been more careful.”

Oska dropped his eyes, feeling ashamed not only for letting Del take the fall, but for needing him to.

“It’s okay.  I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” Del asked.

“Oh, quit coddling him, McCorkel," Cooper said.  “You should be worried about yourself.  We’ve gotta fill out a 302 and then you’re going to spend the remaining two and a half weeks with me as your instructor after pissing me off for making me fill out paperwork.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Nah, it’s fine.  When I was here I broke three elliptical machines.”

“How?” one of the other NAT’s asked with a laugh.

“None of your business.  Go do something productive.  McCorkel, let’s go.”

“Yes, sir.”  Del waited for Cooper and the others to get a few steps away, and then he forced Oska to meet his eyes.  “Oska, maybe you should get checked out anyway.  Just in case there’s an injury we can’t see.”

Oska could see the deeper meaning in Del’s eyes.  The concern and the hope for his well-being.  So, Oska nodded.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.  I will.”

Del patted him on the shoulder and then followed Cooper out of the gym.  Oska stood next to the pile of broken glass for several minutes.  Then he ran his hands over his face and tried to remember in which notebook he had the contact information for the EAP counselors.

The whole walk back to the dorm he worried about Del.  If anyone dug into his story at all, there was no way it would hold up.  Especially if they asked him to tell his version of events under oath.  If he was caught, he would be dismissed from the Bureau.  No matter how small the lie or good the intentions, lying under oath was automatic grounds for dismissal.  Of course, a 302 didn’t require an oath.  It was just an incident report.  Del was likable and at the top of his class.  More than likely he wouldn't get more than a few annoyed sighs sent in his direction, but there was the possibility that trying to cover for Oska could ruin his career.  Because Oska couldn’t get his shit together.

It wasn’t just his problem anymore.  It was affecting people around him.  He might be willing to accept his psychological torture like some sort of self-flagellation, but being responsible for hurting other people was unbearable.  It was worse than the idea of telling people what had happened to him.  Or more accurately, what he had done.

It took him about ten minutes of digging through his notebooks and folders of notes and class materials before he remembered that the information he was looking for was in the welcome packet he’d shoved into the drawer of his desk the first day on campus.  He pulled it out now and skimmed through the list of names, numbers, and emails until he found the one he was looking for.

Catherine Sampson was one of the full time EAP counselors employed by the Bureau and she was stationed at Quantico to be available for all of the agents, intelligence analysts, and staff operations specialists who had to spend weeks of their lives living away from home, eating crappy food, and stressing about not knowing where they would be sent more than a few weeks before the end of class.  He used his Bureau phone to send her an email asking if they could meet on Monday.  Then he picked up his personal phone, verified for the fifth time since returning to the room that he had no messages, and laid down on his bed, clutching the phone in his hand.

About twenty minutes later, the phone pinged.  He shot up straight and unlocked his phone, but there was no text or email.  He glanced over at his Bureau phone on the desk and saw the indicator light blinking at him.  Sighing heavily he eased off the bed and picked up his second phone.  Catherine had already responded saying she was on campus for the weekend and free if he wanted to meet today.  He was tempted to put her off until Monday, but then he thought he might convince himself over the day and a half that he was fine and would cancel altogether.  So he wrote back that he could meet her in thirty minutes outside of Jefferson.  He showered quickly and changed into fresh clothes.

Catherine met him by the west entrance and after shaking hands and exchanging greetings, they began walking along one of the sidewalks that led through the forest that surrounded the base.  She was a very pretty brunette with dark eyes and a comforting smile.  Even still he knew it would be impossible to open up to her completely.

Like all therapists, Bureau counselors were bound to confidentiality about all topics discussed unless they believed he was a threat to himself or others.  But Bureau counselors had one additional caveat that allowed them to break confidentiality.  If they thought someone was a threat to national security, they were obligated to report it.  Being batshit crazy wasn't just something a person had to deal with in their private life in the intelligence community, it meant they couldn’t be trusted with secrets.  It was why most Bureau employees hid their issues and refused to take medications that had any connection with mood stabilizers.

“So, Oska, I’m happy you reached out to me.  A lot of NAT’s start really feeling the pressure when we get close to graduation.  Fear of starting a high pressure career, often times in a new city far from home, can go from seeming like an adventure to ‘Oh shit what have I done’ really quickly.”

Oska half-smiled.  “Fortunately, that’s not my problem.  I used to be a cop, so I’m familiar with the responsibilities of the job.  And I’ll be able to stay at my home because my fiancé is at WFO.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful.  Is she an analyst?”

“He’s an agent.”

“Oh.  That’s good.  Other agents tend to understand the demands of the job better than non-agents.  Even other Bureau employees don’t always fully understand how time consuming and stressful it can be.”

“Hmm.  To be honest, none of that is what’s weighing on my mind.”

“Well, what is?” Catherine asked with a smile and a sight elbow budge.  “Wedding jitters?”

“No, no.  There’s no doubts there.  Honestly, what I really wanted is…recommendations for non-Bureau therapists.  Psychiatrists actually.  I remember in the presentation during orientation that EAP can do that.”

“That’s true, we can, but you know we do keep professional psychologists and licensed therapists on staff.  I’m one of them.  Are you sure it’s something that I, or someone else, a male therapist, can’t help with?”

“It’s—it’s more that it might take some ongoing, serious therapy.”

She gave him a questioning look, but didn’t press him.

He let out a little sigh, but he was smiling.  It sucked, but it was a part of his life now.  Talking about it was just something he had to do.

“Okay, so, you’ve heard of the Angel Slayer, right?”

“Ugh, yes.  I have a PhD in psychology, but men like that I still can’t understand.”

“I think it’s better that we don’t understand them.”

Catherine nodded her head agreement.

“So, um, well…I…I was kinda of his last victim.  You know they caught him with his final victim, that’s how he was arrested.  And—”

Oska stopped when he realized that Catherine wasn’t with him.  He turned and saw that she had stopped walking a few paces back.  She hurried to catch up to him.

“I’m so sorry.  I was shocked.”

“Understandable.”

“I’m so sorry, Oska.”

“Yeah…um, thanks.”  He let out a small laugh.  “It’s kind of weird to say thank you for being sorry I was kidnapped by a psychopath.”

Catherine smiled.  “Well, it’s the least I could do.”

Oska laughed again and glanced at her.  “Your life gets different when you’ve got ‘nearly murdered by a serial killer’ in your party story repertoire.”

“Hmm.  But I imagine it’s not really something that’s just completely in the past.  A fun story to pull out occasionally to entertain with.”

Oska licked his lips.  “No.  It’s not.”

“I imagine that’s what you might need the serious, ongoing therapy for.”

Oska didn’t respond right away.  They walked several minutes in companionable silence.  Even though they were shaded from the sun by the trees, it was hot and muggy.  Sweat rolled down the side of Oska’s face and his spine.  He regretted putting on jeans.  He regretted a lot of things.

“I thought I could handle it.  I thought that I could pass it off as survivor’s guilt.  But it’s not survivor’s guilt.  It’s just guilt.”

“Guilt about what?”

Oska shook his head.  “That’s, um…I can’t…”

“It’s okay.  It’s okay.”

They walked together a few more minutes.

“I can get you a list of possible psychiatrists, but there’s one I will definitely recommend.  His name is Marvel Leroux.”

“Marvel Leroux?  Sounds more like a French porn star than a therapist.”

Catherine laughed.  “He actually is a little unorthodox, but I think he’ll be exactly what you need.”

“Well, at this point, I am willing to try anything to stop feeling like this.”

“That’s excellent, Oska.  Wanting to get better is taking the first step to being better.  A lot of people go through the steps of therapy because it’s expected of them or other people want them to.  But, it really only works if you’re open to it.  Are you?  Open to it?”

Oska put his hands in his pockets.  And then immediately removed them as they started to sweat in the hot confines.

“Yeah, I am.  Because it’s not just about me.  It affects more than me.  And maybe I’m supposed to get better for my own self, but I want to get better for the people in my life.  I won’t pretend I’m not a selfish person, but I’ve always been happiest when I was helping other people.  Helping people gives me a purpose in life.  And that’s why I want to get better.  So I can have a purpose again.”  Oska stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down, ignoring the heat this time.  “I want to get better for him.”

“Your fiancé?”

Oska nodded.  “Is that a bad thing?  To put that kind of pressure on him?  Like, he has to be strong enough for me?”

“Mm, well, that’s why it is better to heal for your own self.  But, it’s not really realistic for humans.  We’re so dependent on others no matter how much we wish we weren’t.”

“’No man is an island,' hmm?”

“Just because it’s a cliché doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when the shrink asks me about my relationship with my mother.”

Catherine laughed.  “I wish I could tell you that that won’t happen because Freud is pretty much debunked at this point, but Dr. Leroux might very well ask you that.”

“Fantastic.”

“I’ll be sure to email you Dr. Leroux’s information.”

“Thank you.”

They stopped as they came out of the woods next to the main road.

“Well, I’m going to go this way to head back to my office,” Catherine said, pointing up the road.

“My dorm is the other way.”

“I really hope you get the help you need, Oska.  And if you ever need to talk to me or one of the peer counselors, please know that we are here for you.”

“I appreciate that.  Truly.”

“Good luck.”

“Thank you.”

Oska watched her walk up the low grade hill for a few moments, but it was too hot to stand around outside being introspective.  He started the walk back to his dorm—which was thankfully downhill—and tried not to panic about the idea of telling some total stranger (who was apparently a bit of a weirdo) all about his messed up problems.

His phone rang, creating a jarring countermelody to the already cacophonous symphony of cicadas.  He forgot the heat and cicadas in an instant when he saw who was calling.  He swiped to answer.

“Hey, baby, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Benson said.  “I’m good.”

“I’m glad.”

“That’s good too.  To be honest I thought you’d start tearing me a new one for not filling you in on the details last night.”

“I thought about it, but I figured you had a good reason.  You did have a good reason, right?”

“A reason…not a good one.  I mean, just that what happened was bad.”

“I heard a cop got shot.”

“The killer.  A disciple.”

“So that’s true.  He was one of Russ’ lackeys.”

“There were two of them.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, but one's in jail and the other is dead.”

“I guess that would cause a bit of chaos, but why did you get sucked into it?”

“I’m the one who shot him.”

“Ah.  That would do it.”

“There were a ton of witnesses though.  It’s considered a justified shooting and there won’t be any charges.”

“You don’t sound happy.  Not that taking a life—even if he was a deranged killer—is a happy thing, but…”

“Russ wanted me to do it.  He orchestrated all of it.  Somehow.  He knew…Oska…the woman in the garage.  That I told you about a few days ago.  I think she was one of his.”

Oska stopped walking, feeling suddenly chilled in the searing heat.  “What?”

“I don’t know for sure.  The cop here just said something odd.  Something about stealing my time.  The woman said the same thing.  That’s why I turned to look at the sheriff.  I was confused by it.  But he must have realized that Russ wanted him to say it so that I would recognize it.  He thought Russ had set him up, which I guess he did, and that’s why he flipped out, took a hostage, and tried to get out of there.  He thought I knew.”

“Benson, you have to call the police immediately.  Isn’t there security footage in the garages at our building?  We need to find this woman.”

“It could be nothing.”

“You think it’s a damn coincidence?”

“No, no I don’t but…what am I going to tell them?  A woman in the garage said something weird that a psycho killer in another state said?”

“Yes.  Say that.  I think with Russ we’ve gotten to the point that we can believe he’s capable of anything.”

“You’re right.  I’ll contact someone about it when I get back.  No one is going to work on a weekend for a hunch anyway.  I’ll do it first thing Monday.  I just want to get home and sleep in my own bed.  I didn’t get done at the police department until after midnight—west coast time, and when I got to the motel I was dead tired.  I couldn’t even shower or change clothes.  I just…fell on the bed and went right to sleep.”

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Better now.  That I’m coming home.”

“When will you be home?”

“In a few hours.  I’m calling from the airport.”

Oska felt his shoulders relax a little.  “So, everything is going okay…with the transport?”

“I guess.  I don’t know.  After I was cleared I arranged my own flight home.  Mooreland Security said they would bring him back and one of the Portland agents is going to fly with him along with a couple more air marshals.”

“Won’t he be pissed?”

“So?  We got what we wanted from him already.  And…I’m done.  I’m not doing anymore interviews.  Even if he says there are more people out there…I can’t.  At least, not right now.  So, since I don’t need to keep him happy, I’m not going to be anywhere near him.  He’s still in Green Falls because they want him to go over the evidence from the shed to verify the identities of the victims.  I doubt he’ll cooperate, but he’s not my problem anymore.”

Oska felt guilt and relief crashing against him like waves.  The relief was a far bigger wave than the guilt though.

“I’m glad you’re coming home.”

“Me too.  Oh, they’re boarding my flight.  I gotta go.  I’ll come down to Quantico tomorrow to see you.”

Oska nodded, tears wavering in his eyes.  “I’d like that.”

“Bye, Oz.  Love you.”

“I love you too.”

Benson ended the call and Oska wiped the tears off his face.  Keeping Benson away from Russ was all he wanted.  Well, that and to be with him.  And he would be as soon as tomorrow.  Unless…

Oska changed his path and walked and then jogged and then ran toward the dorm where the instructors stayed.  He was disgustingly sweaty and panting when he entered the cool lobby of the main hall.  The air was almost too cold as it hit his sweat.  He shivered but otherwise ignored it as he found Agent Cooper’s door.  He rapped on it sharply several times and a few moments later, Cooper opened it, looking a little alarmed.

“Is everything alright?  Mercer, what’s going on?”

“S-sir,” Oska said, trying to catch his breath.  He swallowed thickly.  “Is it too late to get a weekend pass?”

 

Oska unlocked the door to the apartment in Bethesda and was greeted by a whining, excited, squirmy dog and her very wet tongue.  Oska laughed and knelt down to be on her level.

“Hey, Charlie.  Hey, little girl.  Alright, alright, calm down.  Sit.  Sit!”

Charlie sat, but she didn’t look happy about having to try to contain her zeal.

“Good girl.  Where’s your leash?  We’ll take you for a quick walk, okay?  You wanna go outside?  Come on.  Be a good girl and help me find your leash.”

Benson had left it draped over the end of the couch.  He didn’t understand how the man could be OCD about everything in his life except when it came to the dog.  Let her on the couch, on the bed, fed her treats at any time of the day, let her toys litter the floor so that when people got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night they got a giant chewed up pig ear right in the arch of their foot.  Oska made a face still remembering how much that had hurt and clipped the leash onto Charlie’s collar.

They took a walk around the four blocks of the neighborhood that wasn’t along the main roads.  He didn’t know what Benson kept complaining about.  Charlie was totally fine and wasn’t afraid to be outside or go past the sidewalk right in front of their building’s door.  More than likely Benson was afraid for her and she picked up on that and responded to it.  Apparently he was going to have to start training the human as well.

When they got back Oska discovered that there was virtually nothing edible in the pantry or refrigerator.  Benson really had been eating nothing but take out.  No wonder he’d gotten slightly pudgy around the middle.  He decided to go shopping for some real food and cook a decent meal for him for when he got home.  He knew he had time to do it because Benson shouldn’t be home for another three or four hours at least.  Assuming he flew back into a Washington airport which is what Oska predicted because he wouldn’t have a car at the Richmond airport and would need to take a cab or the Metro.  Since he had so much time, he went all out.

He made fresh pasta from scratch and Bolognese sauce with extra basil because he knew Benson liked it that way.  He made a cheesecake, which might actually turn out like crap because he’d never tried it before, and put it in the refrigerator.  He prepared a tray of buttered bread for toasting, with just the slightest hint of garlic because he didn’t want to do anything that would deter kissing or delay it with teeth brushing.  He set the sauce on the warmer and put the uncooked pasta next to a pot of salted water that was ready to boil.  He sat down on the couch, and then turned incredulous eyes on Charlie as she hopped up beside him.

“Excuse me.  Just what do you think you’re doing?”

She inched forward and put her chin on her knee, her tail wagging slightly.  Oska gave in and petted her head.  "Spare the dog, spoil the man,” he sighed.  He glanced down at Charlie.  “You’re lucky I enjoy spoiling the man.”

She raised her head suddenly, looking at the door.  Oska turned his head, a large, goofy smile forming unbidden on his lips.  Like he hadn’t seen him or spoken to him in months.  He stood up from the couch and let Charlie beat him across the room.  The lock rattled, and then the door opened.  Charlie partially blocked Benson from coming in, so he knelt down to pet her.

“Hey, little girl.  Look at you.  You came all the way across the room on your own.  You feeling good today?  What’s that smell?”

Benson stood up and stepped inside.  Oska had made it partway across the room, but he had stopped when he caught sight of Benson’s face, his emotions rendering him dumb.  Benson dropped his bag on the floor and shut the door behind him.  He took one more step before he finally saw him.

“O—Hey.  Hi, Oska.”

“H-hi,” Oska replied shyly.

Benson laughed.  “I feel like I just ran into my crush in the hall after history class.”

Oska laughed too.  “What, the jock has a crush on the weirdo outsider?”

“I wasn’t a jock,” Benson said as he approached him.

“No?” Oska took a step closer too.

“Well, a little bit.  But not like captain of the football team.  And were you really the outsider weirdo?”

“Not really.  More like the class clown.  Though I tried to be a clown to cover up how weird I was.  When the teachers called on me, I answered in an accent.”

“What kind of accent?” Benson asked, getting close enough to comb his fingers though Oska’s hair.

Oska leaned into the touch.  “You know, Russian, Indian…anything that would sound funny.  But the teacher’s couldn’t really complain too much because I always answered correctly.”

Benson leaned in and gave him a prolonged, chaste kiss.

“Can I hear one?”

“I don’t think it’ll be as sexy as you’re hoping.”

“Everything about you is sexy.”

They kissed again and Oska forgot that they’d been having a conversation.  Benson took his face in his hands and they kissed, lingering on every drag of lips and brush of tongues.  Then Benson’s hands moved to his back, stroking down his sides to his waist.  He pulled their bodies together and Oska locked his arms around his neck.  Benson started guiding him backward and Oska pulled his lips away to speak.  Benson kept walking and moved his lips to his cheek, his jaw, down his neck.

“B-Benson…din…dinner.  Made.  Ah…dinner.”

“It’ll wait.”

Benson’s hands began pulling at his belt.

“But, it’s—mm,” he cut off as Benson kissed his lips again.  They reached the bedroom doorway and Benson dropped Oska’s belt on the floor, hands returning to his shirt.  Oska put his hands to Benson’s waist to keep him back slightly, but all he did was open his mouth to him wider and let him inside deeper.  They hit the bed and fell backward onto it.  Unfortunately, the bed was quite high off the floor and Oska’s back and only part of his butt hit the mattress, so they slid off awkwardly onto the floor.  They started giggling and their first attempt to get off the floor failed.

“As I was saying,” Oska said as he held out his hands for Benson to help pull him back to his feet.  “I made dinner.  And dessert.  I don’t want it to be ruined.”

“Will we burn down the apartment building if we wait?”

Benson kissed his cheek and pushed Oska’s shirt off his shoulders.

“No.  Well, probably not.  The sauce is on the warmer, but even on the warmer it’ll get overcooked and gross if it sits too long.”

“Will it last five minutes?”  He opened Oska’s fly and pushed his pants down.

“Yeah.”

“Great.  ‘Cause I’m gonna last, maybe two.”

Oska laughed and let Benson get him onto the bed.  They shed their remaining clothes, allowing their fingertips to trail over every bit of skin that was revealed.  They fumbled through the actions, so preoccupied with kissing that they couldn’t pay attention to much else.  Benson rolled to the side and pulled Oska partially on top of him.  Their erections lined up and their soft groans were lost in each other’s mouths.  Benson took them both in hand and stroked them together.  Oska gripped Benson’s shoulder tightly, compulsively squeezing his deltoid muscle as they rolled together.  It took longer than two minutes, but as promised, it was quick enough that the sauce would probably still be okay.

Oska panted and gave Benson’s jaw weak kisses.  Benson put a hand in his hair and then ran his other hand down Oska’s spine.  The feel of slick, sticky semen mixed with his sweat.  He sat up partially and pushed his hand away.

“Oh, gross.”

“S-sorry,” Benson wheezed.  “Forgot.”

Oska faked gagging and then saw the reddened flesh on Benson’s shoulder.  He pressed a finger against it and it turned white before turning red again.

“Whoops.  I think you’re going to have a handprint shaped bruise there for a few days.”

“Worth it.”

“Yeah.  So…what the hell happened in Oregon?”

Benson sighed.  “Can we eat while I talk?”

“Of course.”

By the time Oska served dessert, his mind was reeling from the total mind fuck Russ had played on Benson.  He sat down heavily at the table and couldn’t bring himself to do more than pick at the cheesecake.  It was only so-so anyway.

“Do you really believe he orchestrated the whole thing?  Or do you think he just got you to believe that he did?”

Benson shrugged.  “Either is possible.  I just still can’t get it out of my mind though.  The woman in the garage.  The fact that he may have been in contact with all of his disciples while in prison.  Everything just suddenly seems like it’s not in our control anymore.  Like, he’s exactly where he wants to be and is manipulating us all.”

Oska reached out and settled his hand on top of Benson’s.

“Baby, he only wants you to think that.  The only power he has now is the power you let him have over you.”

“Do you really believe that?  You’re the one who wanted me to call the police about the woman in the garage immediately.”

“I know.  I think we still should, just to be safe.  But, we can’t live our lives in fear of him.  There’s more than one way to kill a person, Benson.  We can’t let him do this to us.”

Benson nodded, looking like he was deep in thought.  Then he covered Oska’s hand with his other one and looked up to meet his eyes.  He nodded again.

“You’re right.  He’s in prison, he’s staying in prison, and you and I…have our own life ahead of us.  We can look out for each other.  And take care of each other.  And that man…shit, he’s nothing, Oska.  He’s absolutely nothing and he was only something while I let him be.”

“Benson, don’t take this on yourself.  You’ve saved an unknown amount of lives by dealing with him.  By stopping Diaz and Darcy…Baby, I do believe it was worth it.  You were right.  Don’t doubt yourself.  And if you want to keep interviewing Russ if you think you can save more, then I will support you this time.  I know I only made it more difficult.  And I won’t do that again.”

Benson’s brow creased and his chin trembled as he tried to speak, so he snapped his mouth shut, his jaw clenching tightly as he fought back tears.

“And, Benson, if you want to stop…I’ll support that too.  It’s not your responsibility.  It’s okay to not want to do it.  It’s okay to be afraid to do it.  And I will fight anyone who tries to force you to do something you don’t want to anymore.”

Benson tried to smile, but his control broke and tears fell down his cheeks.

“I…I…if there are people out there that still need to be helped.  If there are monsters still out there killing people.  I could help.  I should help.”  Benson let out a sob and clenched Oska’s hands tighter.  “But I don’t want to, Oska.  I don’t want to.  I don’t want to.”

“Shh, shh.”  Oska got out of his seat and pulled Benson into his arms.  The man wrapped himself tightly around Oska’s torso and sobbed into his shoulder.  “It’s okay, Benson.  You don’t have to.  It’s over.  We’re done with Russ.  It’s over.  And it’s okay.  You’re not a bad person.  You’re the best man I’ve ever known.”

Benson cried harder and Oska held him tighter.  His kissed the top of his head and then rested his cheek on it.  He rubbed his hands up and down Benson’s back and let him cry.  Oska knew he’d be miserable tonight, but everything would look better in the morning.  Once Benson realized he was finally free, he’d be whole again.


	6. Week 6

**Monday, August 11, 2014**

Benson clicked on the print icon again, and again nothing happened.  He growled softly and Jordan stopped talking over the phone.

“Something wrong?” Jordan asked.

“Fuckin’ technology.”

“Yeah, okay, well while you deal with that, I’ve got to get to the office.  Though I’m not sure why I’m going anymore.  We have the connection we need.”

“Obtained illegally.”

“But not by FBI direction.  Is there any reason for me to stay?”

“No, I guess not, unless…how far back do their digitized records go?”

“Not that far actually.  Only about ten years or so.”

“Well, maybe before you leave, you can look into the old paper records.  See if there are any names on the Lilac House list that match old clients and if there are any shady transactions.”

“But why?  Flora only got here a year and a half ago.”

“True, but maybe she just modernized their techniques.  Podvodnik has owned Potomac First for fifteen years.  Maybe he’s been laundering money for rich people through The Lilac House for that long.”

“Mn, okay.  Arella has access to the old filing room, she can get me in.  Any idea yet on what the money is being laundered for?  Is it just for evading taxes?”

“I don’t think so.  After the money comes back from the charity, it all went into one account.  It wasn’t distributed back to the same number of incoming accounts.  Also, the withdrawal from the final account is a lump sum in cash.  So, unless a bunch of one percenters are meeting to split up a wad of cash on alternating Thursdays, I can’t imagine the money is going back to them.  I think they’ve devised a way to use their own money to make a purchase that doesn’t leave a paper trail back to them that they bought it.”

“Drugs,” Jordan said flatly.

“Yeah…but this seems a little extreme.”

“Any theories then?”

“Not really.”

“Any theories on how to find out?”

“Well…we’ve never actually talked with the six double dippers.  I could just—”

“Call them up and ask them what they’re using their secret hidden money for?”

“Well, not exactly.  We have their addresses.  Maybe I should just drop by and have a little chat.  Stir up the bushes a bit and see if any snakes slither out.”

“You want some backup?  I could come out with you.  Call in sick.”

“Nah, I’ll be okay.  Even if they get spooked they won’t do anything to a federal agent on their own doorstep.  You go ahead and look through those old records and see if we should add any other names to our persons of interest list.”

“You got it.  Be careful.”

“I will.  You too.”

“Yeah, those old files could be covered with spiders.”

“I meant with Arella.  The apparent hacker genius PI wannabe.”

“Oh, right…yeah…things have cooled off between us anyway.”

“Why?”

“Well, the night she brought the evidence about The Lilac House’s finances, we, uh, engaged in a little post-information sharing activities—”

“Good lord,” Benson said, putting a hand to his forehead.

“And, uh…Ann showed up.”

Benson sat up straight and adjusted his grip on the phone.  “Wait, what?  Ann?  As in Antoinette Russo?”

“Yeah, that would be the one.  Anyway, there was a bit of scene in the hallway, and Arella left not long after.  Friday it was a little awkward at work.  It’ll probably just get worse when I just go to her today to ask her a favor getting into the records rooms.”

“Wait, wait, this happened on Thursday?  What did she say?  What did you say?  Why didn’t you tell me until now?”

“Well, it was late Thursday and I knew you had to get up early to deal with the whole Russ thing.  And I wasn’t going to call you with my personal bullshit while you were dealing that psycho and…his bullshit.”

“I appreciate the concern, but, dude.  What happened?”

Jordan sighed.  “She cried.  That’s not fair.  If she was angry I could be angry too.  But she cried.”

“So.  You take her back?”

“No.  No, no.  No, there was no—no.”

“Soooooo…no, then?”

“Look, I’m not going to take her back just because she apologized for getting scared and handling the situation poorly and that she thinks she made a huge mistake and wants to try again.”

Benson scratched his eyebrow.  He continued to listen to the silence on the other end of the line.  Then he rubbed an eye with a hand.  Finally he said, “What?”

“I…I don’t know.  I mean, she kind of said everything I wanted to hear her say for months now.”

“So, what’s the problem?  Arella?  Do you, you know…have love type feelings for her?”

Jordan was quiet for a moment.  “N-no.  I don’t really think I do.  But I think I could.  I just don’t see why I should jeopardize what I could have with Arella for someone who may ditch me again when I become inconvenient.”

“Well, one reason why is because Arella doesn’t even know your real name.  But.  It’s going to come down to trust.  And if you really can’t ever trust Ann again, then it won’t work no matter how much either of you try.”

“I just…”  Jordan let out a huff of determined breath.  “Look.  I pictured marrying Ann.  We hadn’t known each other long, but I had one of those ‘she’s the one’ type feelings.  And I saw a house and kids and three dogs and waking up next to her and growing old with her.  I was in, man.  We weren’t even living together or anything and I was thinking about engagement rings.  And then she ended it.  So easily.  How could she be ‘the one’ if she didn’t feel the same way about me?  That’s how it works, right?  Two people can only be ‘the one’ if both people feel it?”

“I don’t know, man.  I think the whole idea of ‘the one’ is movie sentimentality.”

“Isn’t Oska ‘the one’ for you?”

“If we had never gone to Elton, and I had never met Oska, I think I would have eventually met someone else and gotten married.  I would have loved that person and been happy with them.  The people you meet in life are based on circumstance—you don’t meet everyone alive on the planet.  Someone could be happily married and yet there’s another person who they never met who would have actually been better for them.  But that doesn’t mean who they are married to isn’t a valid, happy relationship.  You meet people and some affect you more than others.  And those are the people you choose to be with.  You don’t worry about the person in Iowa you never met.”

“Who’s in Iowa?”

“No one, Jordan.  It’s an analogy.”

“So, you’re saying I’m right to let Ann go.  Because there is no ‘the one.’”

“No.  I’m saying that you met someone who has affected you in a way that no other woman has before.  So, maybe you ought to consider cutting her a little slack because no one is ever going to be perfect and people will make really stupid mistakes.  Honestly, Oska…”  Benson cleared his throat and glanced around.  No one was looking at him, but he lowered his voice anyway.  “Oska hurt me.  He full on pulled my beating heart out of my chest and then slapped me across the face with it like it was a dead fish.”

Jordan huffed out a laugh, which was the reaction Benson had been aiming for.

“There were times when I imagined him coming to me and apologizing, groveling to be taken back—and sometimes I would and sometimes I wouldn’t.  When it actually happened, there was nothing terribly dramatic about it.  He did make a bold assumption that I would take his ass back, but I did, so I guess he assumed right.  And the thing is, Oska apologized for hurting me, but he didn’t apologize for doing it.  Because he had to do what was best for himself at the time.

“It’s hard to make sacrifices for other people.  Not everyone can do it easily.  And it’s not fair to judge someone for not being able to do what you could do.  I know you were willing to give up your whole life here to go to Boston to be with her, but not everyone is capable of that.  No matter how much we love someone.  I don’t think I could have moved to Elton for Oska.  But maybe we could have found a compromise if he hadn’t decided to come here.

“Ah, sorry, I'm rambling.  I guess I’m just saying that you can’t hold it against people for not behaving or reacting the way you would to situations.”

Benson listened to the silence on the other end and tried to distract himself from the worry that he’d really pissed Jordan off by clicking the print icon again.  He heard Jordan inhale.

“Wow.  Okay.  That…actually makes a lot of sense.  Thanks.”

“Um, sure.  Any time.  So, are you going to call Ann?”

“I can’t think about that right now.  I need to finish at Klein & Klein, and maybe tell Arella the truth, and then I can—”

“Jordan, you can’t tell her just because you stop working at Klein & Klein.  As long as this investigation is ongoing, you can’t compromise it by revealing what you did there.  We could still be working this case weeks, or even months after you stop working there undercover.”

“Oh.  Right.  Well, you know what?  I’m done with women then.”

“Switching to men?” Benson asked with a snort.

“No.  Just…giving up.  I don’t need love.  I am an island.  Is that the phrase?  Every man is his own island or something?”

“No…I don’t think that’s it.”

“It doesn’t matter.  Oh, gotta go.  The Assiterrors are looking for me.”

“Assisterrors?”

“Brock and Dylan.  They’re assistants and terrors.”

“Why not terrortants?”

“Because that sounds stupid.”

Benson rolled his eyes.

“Okay, later.  Tell me how the meetings with the double dippers go!”

Benson hung up the phone with a shake of his head.  It was kind of amazing no one had figured Jordan out yet.  Looking at his screen, he saw a message indicating that his document had been successfully sent to the printer.  He gave a small fist pump and stood up to walk around the cubicles to where the printers were located.  He looked over his list of names and addresses, and Ainsley came up to use one of the classified printers.

“You know, you can keep lists on your phone,” Ainsley said as he inserted his access card into the reader.

Benson side-eyed him.  “I like crossing things off lists.”

“You can do that on a phone too.”

“People have become too reliant on technology.  There’s nothing wrong with doing things in analog on occasion.”

“That’s not the correct use of that term.”

Benson glared at him as he walked by and Ainsley just gave him a friendly smirk.  Benson swung by Bob’s office on his way out.

“Bob, I’m going to do some interviews.”

“You taking anyone with you?”

“No.”

“Oh.  Should you?”

“Don’t worry, Bob.  I got it.”

Bob grunted and Benson took that for consent to his plan.  He got into his Bu car and drove to one of the DC addresses.  Parker Lennon lived in Spring Valley, a neighborhood that was in the northwest corner of the district near the Potomac River.  The average income for the area was well into six figures.  These people weren’t millionaires like could be found in New York’s pricier neighborhoods, but they definitely had a lot of disposable income.  Benson found a parking spot on the street a block away, but put his parking placard on the dash just in case the area was permit parking only.

The sidewalks were clean and the small lawns in each yard were green and well-maintained even in the summer heat.  Lennon’s home was a three story, narrow brownstone with a kind of mini-turret on one side.  He walked up the steps to the front door and rang the bell.  He heard footsteps from within, and then the door was opened by a young black woman in an actual maid uniform.  Benson pulled out his credentials.

“Hi.  My name is Special Agent Benson Remick.  I’m with the FBI.  I’m looking for Parker Lennon.”

“Meestor Len-non is at work,” the woman—girl—said with a thick accent.

“I see.  Is there anyone currently home?”

“Miz Al-lee-son is here.”

“May I speak with her, please?”

“Wan moment.”

The girl shut the door and left Benson on the stoop.  Benson puzzled over how old she was.  At first she had looked to be in her twenties, but there was just something about the way she carried herself and the way her face moved when she spoke that made her seem a little younger.  Maybe eighteen.  He waited for five minutes before he started to wonder if the girl had forgotten about him.  Three minutes after that, the door opened again, wider this time, and the maid indicated for him to come inside.

Benson stepped in and looked around the brownstone.  The floors were dark wood and the walls painted dark browns and maroons.  The ceilings were stark white and gave an odd sensation of being trapped in a box.  The furniture was heavy and ornate and knickknacks that looked cheap but probably cost more than his car littered the space.  Quite frankly it reminded him of the gaudiness that had been Oska’s mother’s side of the house in Elton.  Only without all the pastels.

The maid led him to a room on the front of the house that he was certain must be an actual “sitting room.”  He bet they called it the parlor.  A woman in a cream colored silk robe was standing by a large bay window with her back to Benson.  Her blondish hair was cut short and looked styled with a whole slew of products.

“Miz Len-non.  Meester Remick.”

The woman turned from the window, the sunlight hitting her at just the right angles.  She put a hand to her bosom in a mockery of surprise.

“Well, I am quite surprised to find the FBI darkening my door, although a face as pretty as yours really just brightens it.  I hope you can forgive me for looking a fright; I just woke up moments ago.”

Benson nodded slightly.  She was wearing enough makeup to last his sister for a year and had probably been up for at least a couple of hours to apply it.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your morning, ma’am.”

“No, not at all.”  She crossed the room and held out a hand, palm down.  “I’m Mrs. Lennon.”

Benson shook her hand awkwardly, refusing to kiss it.

“Won’t you sit down?  Nicole, will you please bring us some coffee?”

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Yes, ma’am,” the maid said and left with a little curtsey.

Benson tried not to make a face.  Rich people were weird; who made their maids curtsey?  He sat down on a stiff and very uncomfortable Victorian style chair upholstered in an itchy burgundy fabric.  Mrs. Lennon lounged in a casually carefree manner on a divan that he knew was meant to accentuate her figure and make her look graceful but was probably also as uncomfortable as fuck.

“Now, Agent…”

“Remick.”

“Agent Remick.  What can I do for the FBI?”

She smiled and it wasn’t too hard to read between the lines of her offer.  Benson just gave her a bland, polite smile.

“I wanted to speak with your husband, Parker Lennon.”

“Oh, my.  He’s not in any trouble, is he?”

“Oh, no.  Nothing like that.  He’s just a client at the investment firm Klein & Klein.  It recently came to our attention that some of their clients have fallen victim to some fraudulent securities.”

“Heavens.  I don’t know anything about our finances.  Parker handles all of that.  Is Klein & Klein responsible for it?”

“We don’t believe so.  It’s a national scam that originated in LA.  Our counterparts out there are handling the dismantling of that group.  We’re just trying to identify the potential victims, and see if they noticed anything unusual happening if and when they invested in those securities.  For instance, did they notice that for some reason it appeared that two separate transactions were made to deposit the money into their accounts.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.  Like, I said, Parker handles the money.”

“Oh, I’m sure you handle a bit of the money yourself.”  Benson gave her a grin that she responded to exactly the way he intended her to.  She laughed a little loudly and sent him a flirty look.

“Oh, Agent, he wouldn’t still be husband if he didn’t let me play a little bit.”

Benson managed a polite laugh.  “So, you definitely know where your money is kept.  Which bank...”

“Oh, yes.  We use Bank of America.  Sometimes I’m forced to use their platinum card when my black AmEx isn’t accepted.”

She laughed again and he smiled and nodded.

“Do you also have an account with Potomac First?”

Something happened to her face around the eyes and mouth.  It was very subtle, but she suddenly looked a little plastic.  Then she smiled bigger and shook her head.

“I’m not familiar with the bank.  I certainly don’t have a card for it, I know that much.  Is it related to the fraud—um—the fraud?”

“That bank was more susceptible to the breach because they didn’t have the same resources as the national chains.  I just wanted to check to make sure that wouldn’t be a problem for you and your husband.”

“Oh, no.  Not us.  I’ve never heard of that bank.  So.  Oh!  Nicole.  You can set the tray over here.”

The young girl carried a heavy, silver tray laden with all the accoutrements usually associated with tea trays on British dramas.

“Agent Remick, do you take cream or sugar in your coffee?”

“Just a little cream.”

“Okay, Nicole?”

Benson sat awkwardly while the young maid poured his coffee, added a dab of cream from a tiny, delicate porcelain pitcher, and then stirred it with a teeny tiny spoon.  She handed him the cup and saucer and he thanked her.  He took a sip of the coffee (which was really damn good) as he watched Nicole prepare Mrs. Lennon coffee without direction.  Apparently she had done this many times before.  Mrs. Lennon dismissed her without thanking her, and gave Benson another smile before blowing lightly over the contents of her cup.

“Now.  Where were we?  As I said, I don’t know much about the finances, but if you want to wait to speak with Parker, you can.  He should be home from work in a few hours.  And I’m sure we can find some way to pass the time.”

She took a sip of her coffee, trying to be sexy was Benson’s best guess, but the liquid was too hot and she burned herself, cursing as she spilled the drink.  She’d had so much cream put in it that it barely discolored her robe, but it was enough to upset her.

“Nicole!” she shouted.  "I need some club soda immediately!”

Benson offered her a napkin from the tray and she gave him a tight smile as she began dabbing at the spill.

“She always makes it too hot.  I tell her again and again not to serve it so hot.  I swear.  It’s impossible to find good help these days.”

Benson didn’t comment on Nicole’s competency; he found the coffee to be perfect.

“So, where did you find Nicole?”

Mrs. Lennon looked up, not masking her frown well, and then returned to dabbing.

“She was recommended to us,” the woman muttered.

Nicole came into the room with a glass of club soda and a napkin.  She began to help clean Mrs. Lennon’s robe.  The woman looked up at Benson.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to change.  So, if there’s nothing else you need?”

“No, no.  I’ll just leave my card for your husband and he can contact me at his leisure.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know you stopped by.”

Benson stood up and handed Mrs. Lennon his card.

“I’ll see myself out.  Thank you for the coffee, Nicole.  It was perfect.”

The maid looked up at him, and since Mrs. Lennon was still focused on her robe, he gave the girl a wink.  She smiled, but then rolled her lips in to hide it.  She went back to work on Mrs. Lennon’s robe.  Benson felt he was definitely no longer needed or wanted in the room, so he headed for the foyer.  He glanced around the place on his way out, not sure what he was looking for.  Just as he got to the door he heard noise above him and looked up.  A light skinned woman in a maid uniform was carrying a basket of laundry across the landing upstairs.  How many maids were needed for a relatively small house?  He shook his head and left.

The other DC address was in the Palisades, only a five minute drive from the Lennons.  However, no one answered the door at the Denison’s.  He decided to drive out to Potomac, Maryland which was to the northwest of Bethesda, about fifteen minutes from his apartment on the DC border.  The residents in Potomac were the Pellmans, one of the people identified by Carpinelli as racist assholes.

When he pulled up into the driveway of the large house, no less than five Latino men were working on the landscaping.  They paid him no attention as he walked up to the door.  He rang the bell once, and then again a few seconds later.  Heavy, footsteps came from within.  When the door opened it was by a thin, severe looking woman in purple dress pants and a white blouse.  She didn’t look like she was heavy enough to make the kind of noise he had heard, but her shoes were heeled, so maybe she’d been clomping in them.

“Yes?” the woman asked sharply.

Benson pulled out his credentials hurriedly, a little afraid of what the woman might do if she thought he was selling something she didn’t want.

“I’m Special Agent Benson Remick with the FBI.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t look impressed.

“I was looking for Rebecca Pellman.”

“That’s me.  What’s this about?”

“I don’t know if you were informed, but the investment firm you use—”

“Recently discovered some fraudulent securities.  Yes, I know.  Klein & Klein reached out as soon as they found out about it.  They’re responsible; that’s why we chose to invest with them.  However, since we never invested in one of the bad securities it didn’t affect us.  Is that all?”

“Um.  Do you have a bank account with Potomac First?”

“No.”

Benson stood still, a little thrown off his game.  Behind the woman, Benson saw a little boy with a dark head peek his head around a corner to look at him.  He smiled at him.

“Is that your son?”

Rebecca Pellman glanced back and the little boy gasped and disappeared.  She turned back.

“Hardly.”

Benson’s brow creased slightly.  Even if the kid was a friend of one of her children, that was an odd reaction.  Unless it was because the little boy’s skin had been a little too tan to be white.  Well, Anglo-Saxon white.

“Is there anything else you need?  The situation at Klein & Klein doesn’t affect us, so we can’t help you with your investigation.  But thank you for your concern.  Good day.”

The woman shut the door in his face.

_The fuuuuuck?_

Benson was tempted to ring the bell again, but he didn’t know what he would say to her.  He walked back to his car, pondering the conversation.  It was hard to tell if she was hiding something, or if she was just a bitch.  He decided to save the six addresses in Virginia for tomorrow and returned to the office to deal with some of the administrative nightmare of squaring away the use of their illegally obtained material on The Lilac House from their “anonymous” source.

~~~

Jordan closed the bottom drawer on the final filing cabinet in his row.  He stood up and looked over the top of the cabinets to the row on the other side.  The top of Arella’s head barely cleared the top of the cabinets.

“Find anything?” Jordan asked.

Arella tilted her head back to see him.  “Nothing past 2010.”

“Where are all the old records?  These are only four years old.  Even if they don’t keep everything, for tax purposes most companies would keep records at least seven years back.”

“Well, there is another storage room upstairs.  When I was there I was looking for some old insurance files for an employee, but I didn’t see any filing cabinets.  It was just boxes, so I don’t know if client records would be stored like that.”

“Is it locked?”

“Yes, but I have a key.”

“Do we still have time to check?”

Arella checked her watch.  “Eh.  The calls are forwarding to Britt; she can handle it a while longer.”

Jordan and Arella left the filing room and walked over to the elevators.  On the way, Drake from the IT department smiled at Arella, and gave Jordan a glare.  He ignored him and held the doors open for Arella to step onto the lift.  Arella was wearing a white top with a skirt that came to her knees, but was very full and kind of flouncy.  It apparently also had pockets as she put a hand into the folds of the fabric.  She pulled out a set of keys, but something else was in her hand she quickly stuffed it back in her pocket and her face turned pink.

“What was that?” Jordan asked as they stepped off the elevator.

“Nothing.  Well, something I meant to give to you earlier so you could put it in your desk.”

“What is it?” he asked with a laugh.

“Nothing!  Now, shh.  We don’t want to bother Mr. Klein or Mr. Carpinelli.”

Jordan just noticed that they had gotten off on the top floor.  Arella led them around the corner toward John’s office, but then opened a door across the hall.  The room was medium sized and mostly full with stacked boxes and a couple of overflowing bookshelves.

“Sheesh,” Jordan said as he shut the door.  “This looks like a fire hazard.”

“Probably is.  Apparently the late Mr. Klein didn’t like computers and liked to do everything by hand.  When the company was losing clients because they couldn’t keep up with the changing market, he brought in John Carpinelli as a consultant to get their systems and practices updated.  He brought the company into the twenty-first century, and that’s why Mr. Klein hired him on as CEO before he retired.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I do talk to people other than you.  And people here like to talk.  They’re so snoopy.”

Jordan shot her a look, which she ignored.

“So what’s in your pocket?”

“Nothing.”

“You said it was for me.”

“I thought you said we were looking for something,” she said, trailing a hand over boxes as she wove between the stacks.  “At least these are all labeled.”

“Oh, come on.  Show me.”

She sighed.  “Fine.  But, this is kind of an awkward place to show you.”

“Is it a sex toy?” Jordan ask with a laugh.

Arella kind of tilted her head.

“Oh my God.  It’s a sex toy.”  He hurried over to her side.  “What is it?!” he whispered.

“It’s not really a sex toy.  It’s just a condom.”  She pulled out two packets that looked like normal squares, except there was a little rectangular section attached to the top of each.

“A condom?” he asked, feeling disappointed.  He took one in his hand and squeezed the top portion lightly.  A liquid-y gel moved around under his fingers.  “Is this lube?”

“Yeah.  It’s a new kind of condom that comes with a lube packet attached to it.”

“How is this exciting?”

“Well, straight guys don’t usually carry around lube with them.  So, if you have these on hand, we don’t have to worry about it.”

“Why do we need it?  We haven’t before.  Is it bad?  Have I been hurting you?”

“No, no.  You get me plenty wet,” she said with a grin and turned away to hide her face, looking at boxes again.

“So, why the lube?”

“Well…I thought maybe we could try having sex in a way that wouldn’t matter how long you are.  Like…you know, you can go as…et-hmm.  Deep as you like and not worry about running into anything.”

“But…if it’s slipperier…won’t I just…run into something harder?”

“Not if there’s nothing there.”

Jordan looked at her.  Her face was quite red now.  “I don’t get it.”

“Geez, Jordan.  There’s more than one option when it comes to women, you know?”

"You want this much lube in your mouth?” he asked, utterly perplexed.

She jutted her jaw out to the side in annoyance and heaved a sigh showing she was trying to be patient with him.  “Okay, you have three options with women.”

“Three…three…oh!  OH!  You mean…” He leaned forward, bracing an arm on the stack of boxes next to her.  “You mean like,” he whispered, 'butt stuff?'”

Arella gave him an unamused look.  “Anal, Jordan.  Say it with me: anal sex.”

“No, no, I can’t say it.  I think of anal sex and all I can see is my best friend banging his boyfriend.”

Arella stared at him for a long moment.  Finally she said, “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

Jordan waved his hands.  “No, sorry.  I mean…I just spent a month listening to them bang through the walls, you know?  Like…in my head, anal sex is like this loud, wild headboard slamming kind of thing.”

Arella let out a small laugh.  “And that doesn’t interest you?”

“I…”  Jordan tilted his head.  “Well…”  He looked back at her.  “You’d want to try it?”

“Well, I have actually done it before, so it wouldn’t be like a first time thing for me.  But if you’re not comfortable with it…”

“No!  I mean yes.  I mean, I could try it.  We should try it.  We could try it now.”

He stepped forward to kiss her, mostly joking, and she slapped playfully at him.

“Do not!  Stop, Jordan!” she giggled.  “We are up here conducting an investigation.  Behave yourself.”

Jordan grinned and stepped away to look at the dates marked on another set of boxes, smacking her ass as he went by.  She jumped and let out a squeak, and then glared at him.

“You put those condoms away and we’ll see if you can come over sometime this week.”

“If not you can come to me,” Jordan said, finding a box marked as the second quarter from fiscal year 2003.

“I don’t know…” Arella said hesitantly.  “I don’t think I’d want to run the risk of seeing anymore exes.”

Jordan set the lid of the box aside and winced slightly.

“Yeah, about that.  I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“It’s okay.  We all have baggage.  I still got my Chinese food, so it wasn’t a total disaster.  What are we looking for?”

“Any clients that made deposits into two bank accounts.  Or the same bank account with two different routing numbers.”

“Right.  Jordan, there are _thousands_ of pages here.”

“I know.  But, if there are more people involved in this, or used to be involved, we need to know their names.”

“Who is ‘we?’”

Jordan’s eyes widened, but he was looking at the paperwork and had his back to Arella.  “You and me.”

“Oh.  Right.”

They searched through the boxes for close to an hour before Jordan finally came across something.  A man named Justin Sirano made deposits to two different bank accounts semi-monthly for most of 2004.  The name stood out because it was the same surname as one of the double dippers.  This didn’t look terribly suspicious though.  The bank account numbers were different, and he’d been told before that a lot of clients deposited money into different savings and checking account.  He pulled out his phone and scanned through his notes until he found some of the screenshots he’d taken of the reports from the money transfer program.  He compared the routing number he knew belonged to Potomac First to the numbers in the 2004 file.  It was the same.  So, he was making deposits to Potomac First, but he wasn’t trying to hide it.  Maybe ten years ago they didn’t have the technology to hide it.  Or they thought laundering it through the charity was enough to keep their hands clean.  Or, it could be completely innocent.  He took a picture of the man’s accounts and name anyway.

“Have you found anything?” Arella asked, coming up beside him.  “I probably should get back to the desk.”

“Oh, right, of course.  I don’t want to keep you here too long.  I found someone who might be related to the double dippers and he had an account with Potomac First.  It’s not much, but it is a connection.”

He put the files back into the last box he’d opened and put the lid on.  Arella turned to walk to the door, but he gently grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“What?” she asked, laughing.

“Come on.  We can hide out and kiss in the closet a little bit.”

Arella laughed again and stood on her tiptoes to receive his kiss.  He licked into her parted lips and wrapped his arms around her waist so that he could pick her up and stand up straight.  She giggled as she tried to kiss him, arms around his neck and feet dangling off the floor.  He pushed some of the boxes onto the floor and set her on the remaining ones that put her at just right the height.  Her legs spread to allow him to stand between them and he cupped her face as he kissed her repeatedly, biting her lips softly.  Her nails dragged against the fabric of his shirt.  He pressed in closer and his erection pressed against the thin material of her panties.  He could feel her heat.  He put a hand on her knee and slid it up her leg, his fingers seeking the wet crux between her legs.  She pushed back on him slightly.

“Wait, wait…are we—mm.  Are we really going to do this in a storage room at work?”

Jordan pulled out one of the condoms.  “I don’t know about you but I can’t wait to try.”

Arella’s face fell open into scandalized shock, but she was also amused.  Then she recovered and nodded.

“Let’s do it,” she said before kissing him again and then sliding off the boxes.  She leaned forward onto the boxes and looked over her shoulder at Jordan.  “You know what you’re doing?”

“Um.  Yes and no.”

“I’ll help you.  First you’re going to have to take your jaw off the floor.”

“Shut up,” he grumbled.

He pushed her skirt over her hips and knelt down behind her.  He fingered her through her panties, grinning as she gasped and whined softly.  He pulled the light blue fabric down her thighs and leaned forward to lick at her.  She hummed and squirmed, the boxes shifting precariously.

“Come on.  We don’t have time for a half hour of foreplay.  Just open the packet and start with one finger.”

“Right.”

He kissed the pale, flawless globe of one of her butt cheeks as he opened the packet.  She giggled.

“Did you just kiss my ass?”

“Hush.”

He put more lube on his finger than he thought was probably needed, but like hell if he was going to risk making this terrible for her.  He rubbed his fingers through her natural slick and she moaned and shifted her hips appreciatively.  Then he drew his hand up, up…he wasn’t sure if he would need to use one to pull her cheeks apart so he could see—and then he felt it.

“Oh.”

“There you go.  Start easy.”

Jordan circled his finger around the tight bud for a moment.  Was this weird?  Nah.  He pushed his finger in partway.  She jumped slightly.

“Does it hurt?” he asked in alarm.

“No, no.  It just startled me.”  She let out a soft laugh.  “I guess I’m nervous.  It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

“Do you not like it?”

“Well, it didn’t hurt.  It wasn’t mind blowing.  I don’t have a prostate like your best friend.”

“Don’t talk about him.”

“I thought you couldn’t think of anal sex without thinking of him?”

“Of him with his boyfriend.  Fiancé.  Whatever.  Not with me.  I’m not involved in this scenario…oh, wow.”

Jordan’s finger slid all the way in and it was definitely different.  The texture was different, it was a little tighter, but the biggest different was the way the muscle clenched around his finger.  The vagina didn’t do that.

“Well, you’re involved in this scenario,” she said a little breathily.  “How is it so far?”

He pushed his finger in and out and it glided smoothly.  “Kind of awesome.”

“Great.  Now, try a second finger.”

“Are you sure?”

“You think you’re going to get your massive cock in there without working it open a little bit first?”

“Wh-eh.  No.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  Keep going.  Feels good.”  She moved a hand between her legs and lightly fingered her clit as he worked.  Two fingers went in okay.  He could even scissor them and feel her start to stretch out a bit.  Fitting a third seemed impossible.

“It’ll go,” Arella said, undulating her hips against her fingers and back onto his.  Come on, _chooki_ , I’m feeling good.  Make me feel better.”

“What’s ‘chooki?’” Jordan asked as he eased in a third finger and watched her face carefully to make sure she didn’t flinch with pain.

“Just a pet name.  You want me to call you shnookems instead?”

“No,” he said smiling, pushing his fingers inside her heat and finally feeling something clawing in him to hurry up and get his cock inside her.  “I’ve just never heard it before.”

“It’s Hebrew.”

“You’re Jewish?” he asked.

“Is that odd?”

“I guess I just don’t picture Jewish girls with blonde hair.”

“We come in all colors, hon.”

“Arella…”

“Yes?”

“Are you ready?  Can I…” he trailed off, losing his words at the thought of sinking into something so hot and tight.

“Go for it, schnookems.”

He gave her a smile and stood up.  She adjusted herself on the boxes while he undid his fly and rolled on the condom.  He used the remaining lube to slick up his length and positioned himself behind her.

“Go slowly at first,” Arella said.  “Also, I’m not sure how steady these boxes are.”

“Okay.”

Jordan lined up and pushed against her entrance.  He was met with resistance so he stopped immediately.

“Um…I don’t think this will work.  I think I might be too big.”

“Jordan, if you got three fingers in, it will go.  You just have to apply pressure and keep going until…well, it pops in.”

“Pops in…” he repeated on a wheezy breath.

He tried again and pushed gently, slowly.

“Come on, Jordan, you’ve got to put a little chutzpah in it.”

He laughed and the movement made his lower half push forward a little and then—

“Oh, God,” Jordan said excitedly.  “I’m in!”

“Okay, kinda of killing the mood.  Just give me a second.”  He froze, worried he’d hurt her.  She shifted a bit and then settled on her forearms.  “Okay.  Keep going.”

Jordan put his hands on her hips and slowly guided himself inside.  He kept going and going, and then he felt himself snug against her ass, his balls pressed against her warm skin.  He was completely sheathed inside her.  It felt like he might have discovered a new kind of drug.

“Jesus, Arella…this feels fucking amazing.  No offense with the Jesus thing.”

Arella laughed.  “You are such a weirdo.  Now come on, fuck me.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not at all.  So come on.”

Jordan began to move and he realized he might never have had real sex before in his life.  She was so amazingly tight, even when he got up a rhythm.  There was no sense of getting pushed back out like with vaginal sex, it was more like getting sucked back in each time.  He leaned over her and kissed her neck as he continued to fuck into her ass.  He slipped one hand around her hip and rubbed his index finger over her clit.  She bit her lip to hold back her moans and pushed back against him.  Their pace increased with unspoken synchronicity and Jordan increased the pace of his finger when he felt himself getting close.  Arella started letting out soft little cries of pleasure and Jordan drove in harder.

“Oh, Jor-Jordan…coming, coming!”

Jordan groaned and came with her as her body stiffened and gripped him tighter.  He pumped in and out a few more times, riding out the orgasm.  Then he pushed in one final time, trying to memorize how hot and wet and tight it felt.  Then something shifted and Arella let out a squeal as they tilted forward.  The front edge of the bottom box bent under their weight and tipped them and the other boxes forward.  They both yelled out in surprise and hit the floor with a thud, other boxes falling down around them.  They lay there for a moment, papers floating down to settle around them.  Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

The door swung open.  “Is someone in here?”

Arella and Jordan scrambled to their feet, adjusting clothes and hair.  Jordan shoved the condom into his pocket and John walked far enough into the room to see them.

“I heard a commotion.  What happened?  What are you two…”  He trailed off as he took in their flushed faces, labored breathing, and disarrayed clothing.  He pursed his lips in annoyance, clearly figuring out what they had been up to.

“Ms. Lewin, can you return to your post?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

 Arella straightened her skirt and scooted toward the door.  She looked back at John.

“A-am I going to be fired?” she asked in an uncharacteristically timid voice.

John’s face softened slightly.  “No.  But we will need to discuss the level of professionalism that is expected at this firm.”

“Yes, sir.”  Arella ran out the door.

John looked back at Jordan and his face hardened again.

“What are you doing in here?  Aside from the obvious.”

“I was looking for older records that—”

“I thought I told you not to snoop anymore unless you had a warrant, Agent.”

“I’m not snooping.  And I wasn’t in your personal office.  This is where the old records for the company are stored.  I was looking for a pattern of—”

“Save it.  I think you’ve been here long enough that if you were going to find something, you would have found it.  I don’t think Klein & Klein requires the services of the FBI any longer.”

Jordan sighed.  “John…”

“No, don’t ‘John’ me and try to convince me of anymore bullshit.  You 'just got out of a bad relationship and couldn’t even fathom being with someone else.'  You’re a coward and that’s worse than most things.”

Jordan drew himself up, lips tightening with anger.  John was just pissed that he’d slept with Arella instead of him.

“You shouldn’t let your personal feelings influence the case.  Dismissing me now—”

“No,” John said, stepping close, “you shouldn’t have let your personal feelings influence the case.  You can be assured I will be informing your superiors of this disgraceful behavior.”

Nauseating worry made Jordan’s whole body feel a little weird.  This was not good.  This was so not—

“Unless…” John said, stepping closer and sliding a hand around Jordan’s waist to grab his ass.  “You can convince me not to.”

The worrisome feeling mostly went away.  Jordan stepped back.

“Seriously?  You’re going to report me unless I sleep with you?”

John gave him a smile.

“I think I’ll ‘resign’ from Klein & Klein.”

John shrugged and stepped back.  “Suit yourself.  It’s your career.”

“Yeah, you just propositioned a federal agent and attempted to blackmail him.  How do you think that’s going to play out for you?”

John pushed his lips together and thought for a moment.  “Okay, so I won’t tell your superiors about Arella.”

Jordan huffed and kind of rolled his eyes.

“But you’re going straight to your office, packing up your things, and you will not be returning here as Jordan Bell.”

Jordan nodded.  John started to turn to leave, but Jordan called out to him.

“John, tell me.  Are you or Chris involved in any of this at all?”

John shook his head.  “No.  We run an investment firm.  We obey all the laws.  We make more than enough money that embezzling would be foolishly risky.”

Jordan examined his eyes.  He believed him.  John tilted his head.

“Is there something more going on?  More than just fraudulent securities or avoiding paying our fees?”

Jordan knew he couldn’t really tell him anything.

“If we need to speak with you or anyone else here again, we will contact you in a formal capacity.”

John looked at him thoughtfully for several long moments.  Finally he seemed to determine that he wouldn’t get anything out of Jordan, so he walked toward the door.

“Good luck with your investigation, Agent Szustakowski.  And do call me if your curiosity ever gets the best of you.”

Jordan couldn’t help the small smile that escaped him.  It was kind of flattering, but if he was ever going to fall down the rabbit hole into an alternate reality where he might maybe possibly consider dabbling, then he knew he’d never pick a guy who was so cocky and used to getting his way all the time.

Jordan cleaned up the mess he and Arella had made before going down to his office.  He didn’t really have anything to pack up as he’d never brought in any personal effects or done any actual work for Klein & Klein.  He did have to take his laptop and badge down to the security office to return them.  The guy who had originally brought him on board was so happy and smug that he was leaving that he didn’t even ask why.  He’d probably make something up to spread rumors about later.  As he entered the lobby, Arella quickly put a person on hold and hopped out of her seat.

“What happened?”

Jordan held out his hands.  “I got canned.”

“Th-that’s not fair.  He didn’t fire me.”

“He brought me on as a favor honestly.  And since the whole securities thing has been cleared up and we haven’t found anything wrong with the company’s practices—he doesn’t need me.”

“Nothing wrong?  Did you tell him about the money transfer program?  And the routing numbers?”

“He knows a little bit, but he thinks it requires a cyber expert to investigate further.  And I didn’t want to get you in trouble, so I didn’t tell him everything.  It’ll be alright.”

“So, what, you’re just going to stop investigating?”

“I don’t really think there’s much to investigate.”

“That’s bullshit.  You know that’s not true.”

“Honestly, Arella, I had fun playing detective with you, but come on.  We were just messing around.  Nothing’s going on here.”

Arella’s face turned into a stony mask.  It sucked to see it, but this might convince her that he was a big enough jerk that she never wanted to see him again.  And that was probably for the best.  She didn’t say anything in response, and he didn’t know what else to say.  So, he just gave her a weak smile and walked to the elevators.  Of course, it took an awkwardly long time for a car to arrive, and when it did it was filled with people coming back from a late lunch.  He shuffled around and got onto the elevator.  When he looked back inside the lobby of Klein & Klein he couldn’t see Arella.  The doors shut.  Once he was outside he called Benson.

“What’s up, Jay?”

“Well, my tenure as Jordan Bell is officially over.”

“Did something happen?”

“No…John and I just decided that I wasn’t really accomplishing anything, so we decided it was best to end it.  Since I’m not really qualified to do that kind of work anyway.”

“Is…there a problem?  Do we need to get Bob to start working on some damage control?”

“No, no.  Nothing like that.  It really is okay.”

“Oh, okay.  Great, then.  I think we’ve probably done everything from the inside that we can.  It’ll be good to have you back in the office.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

 

**Tuesday, August 12, 2015**

 

 “Security alert!” Kerley called out.

Benson looked over at his fellow agent, and then to where he was looking.  Jordan was giving him a bitch face.

“Yeah, there’s some rando-stranger wandering around the office,” Ainsley chimed in.

Everyone else on the squad razzed Jordan as he walked to his desk.

“Ha, ha,” Jordan said.  “Amazing how someone who doesn’t even work here gets more done than you slackers.”

“Ooo!” the group called out in exaggerated offense.

Jordan plopped down in his chair and Benson gave him a smile.

“What?” Jordan asked warily.

“Nothing.  It’s good to have you back.”

“Hey, Mr. Undercover Agent,” Johnston called out, “how’d someone as tall as you blend in anyway?”

Everyone snickered and Jordan frowned.  Benson didn’t think he actually looked upset; he was just pouting because he was being teased.

“Yeah, it’s great to be back,” he mumbled.  “How long do you think I’ll have to put up with all the ‘clever’ comments?”

“Probably most of the morning.”

Jordan sighed.

“Unless, we’re not here.”

Jordan turned around, very interested.  “Where will we be if not here?”

Benson held up his list.  “Interviews.  I got six more people on my list.  You wanna come?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Alright.  Let’s go.”

Everyone booed Benson as he took away their plaything.  Jordan just smirked and flicked them off.  They took Benson’s car and drove out of DC and into Virginia.  All six of the people on the list lived within ten or fifteen minutes of each other in McLean.  Four of them were in the same neighborhood.  They drove up to the first address and found a huge house.  It wasn’t quite a mansion, but it had been built long enough ago that the size would have been extravagant then.  Despite its years, it was impeccably maintained with green lawns and colorful flowerbeds.  Curtains hung in every window and the paint wasn’t chipped or flecking anywhere.  Benson rang the bell and they waited for the door to open.

When it did, they were greeted by a girl who couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.  She wore a maid uniform similar to the one Nicole had worn.  Her skin was so dark it made the whites of her eyes and her white teeth flash noticeably in her pretty face.

“Hello,” she said, the trace of an accent that Benson couldn’t quite place in her voice.  “Can I help you?”

They showed their credentials and introduced themselves.  She led them inside to a sitting room and curtsied before going to find her employer.  Jordan had an odd look on his face as he watched her go.  He turned back to Benson.

“Is that weird?”

“Very weird.  Especially considering one of the people in DC had a young girl for a maid as well.”

Jordan shrugged.  “Summer employment?”

Benson’s brow creased.  “Maybe.”

Sounds from the hallway alerted them that someone was coming to the room.  They stood up just as a middle-aged white man in khakis and a pastel pink polo shirt entered the room.

“Gentlemen.  I’m not sure if I misunderstood, but Jeanette said that you’re from the FBI?”

“Yes,” Benson said and both he and Jordan pulled out their creds again.  The man glanced at them and then introduced himself as Warner Goddard.  They shook hands and Goddard indicated that they should take a seat on the black leather sofa.

“So, what can I do for you?”

“We’re investigating the trail of some fraudulent securities that were deployed nationwide,” Benson started.  “Unfortunately, Klein & Klein was one of the companies affected by the fraud and we understand you’re one of their clients.”

“Yes, I am.  We received a notice from Klein & Klein regarding the situation, but the letter also stated that none of our investments were directly affected.”

“I’m glad to hear that.  Did you check your accounts after you were notified?”

The man put out his hands and shrugged his lips.  “No.  We trust Klein & Klein to handle it.  I also have an accountant and lawyer who do most of that stuff.  I was told we were unaffected by it, so I believe them.  And I knew that other people would catch it if it weren’t true.  Are…you here to tell me it’s not true?”

“No, we don’t believe you have been affected by the fraud.  However, we were wondering if you could tell us a little bit about the new money transfer program Klein & Klein started using a little over a year ago.  As we understand it some people have noticed some odd things happening.  Multiple deposits made to the same account in the same transaction.  Fees being assessed before the returns even come in.”

Goddard shook his head again.  “I honestly wouldn’t know.  I really do trust my accountant with all of that.”

“Would it be possible to speak with him?”

“Sure, sure.”  Goddard stood up, so they did too.  “If you leave me your information, I’ll make sure he gets in touch with you.  If there’s nothing else…” he tried to lead them toward the door.

“Just one more thing,” Jordan said.  “It’s also come to our attention that a charity called The Lilac House was recently targeted by the same group that was pushing the fake securities.”

Benson glanced at Jordan.  He hadn’t brought up the charity at the other visits because he wasn’t quite sure how to do it without some clumsy exposition, like Jordan had just given.  But, Goddard didn’t even react to it beyond a vaguely sympathetic face.

“A charity, huh?  Seems like nothing is sacred these days,” Goddard said.

“We saw your name on a list of donors and—”

“I really don’t know anything about it.  My wife is the one who writes those checks.  She supports a lot of charities.  I can’t keep track of them all.”

“Seems like with your wife and your accountant around, you don’t need to keep track of any of your money,” Benson said.

The man’s eyes narrowed slightly.  Benson gave him a smile like he’d been making a joke.  Goddard gave him a polite laugh and then tried to get them to head to the door again.  Benson took out a business card and gave it to Goddard.

“If you would ask your accountant to get in contact with us as soon as possible that would be best.  We want to make sure nothing has happened to your accounts.”

“Thank you for stopping by agents.  Have a good day.”

The door shut behind them before they were barely outside.

“Damn,” Benson muttered.  “I hate giving out cards just to have them immediately thrown in the trash.”

Jordan chuckled.  “Oh, so my ‘that guy is totally sketchy and acting guilty and hiding something’ conclusion isn’t because of my uniquely extraordinary powers of deduction?”

Benson laughed.  “Not this time.

“So, you want to take odds on that being the shortest interview of the day?”

Benson snorted.  “I’m sure a couple won't even let us in the door.”

That turned out to be true at two of the houses.  They were stonewalled, very politely, on the porch and then asked even more politely to get the hell off their property.  One house was answered by a teenaged girl who informed them that her parents were both at work.  They couldn’t talk to her since she was a minor, but they did hear the girl yelling for someone to make her lunch before she shut the door.  They were greeted by more maids at the doors of the last two houses; one was a white woman in her twenties and the other was a teenaged Asian girl who could barely speak English.  The homeowner said that she was an exchange student and was just playing dress up.

In that house they were taken into the kitchen to talk because the matriarch was hosting a luncheon later and needed to provide instruction to the kitchen staff.  The chef appeared to be an Arab woman and she was wearing a uniform and cooking classically French foods.  She had a slew of helpers, also in uniforms, and they were girls and boys with a variety of brown skin tones, the oldest no older than fifteen.

“No, dear, not like that,” Mrs. Pritchett said, her southern accent so thick Benson felt like honey was being poured over his ears.  “Cucumber sandwiches must always be sliced diagonally.  There you go.  Now, agents, you said something about Klein & Klein?  I remember Mr. Klein.  Very nice man.  I hope his son is handling everything okay.  It’s just such a shame to have this sort of thing happen when he’s just taken over.  It must just hurt his poor heart.  Diana!  Red wine does not go in the refrigerator, darling!”

“Yes, it is unfortunate,” Benson said.  “You know I’m curious, are all these children…the chef’s children?”

“Oh, gracious heavens no, pumpkin.  What a thing!  Inez would go crazy if they were hers.  She teaches classes when she’s not catering.  Adults and children alike.  These are her students.”

“Hm,” Jordan said.  “You’re okay with students—children at that—catering something so important as today’s luncheon?”

“Well,” she shook her head, clearly trying to think of another lie.  “It’s for charity, dear.  The luncheon is for charity.  We would hardly be good philanthropists if we turned our nose up at the people we were helping.”

“Oh, so is this gathering for The Lilac House?” Benson asked.

“Yes!  Why you’ve heard of them.  It’s a fantastic organization, isn’t it?  They save children all the time.”

“I thought you said these children were students?”

“Well, they are.  The Lilac House provides activities until they’re placed.  Why should these children have to suffer more than they already have by being shut away with nothing to do?”

“Yes,” Jordan said.  “I can see how working in a kitchen and serving people all day is a fun activity.”

Mrs. Pritchett narrowed her eyes at him, but her smile was still in place.  “Well, agents, again, thank you for coming to talk to me about Klein & Klein, but as I’ve said that’s my husband’s business and he’s at work today.  Now, I’ve got a lot to take care of before the guests arrive, but I’d be happy to give you each an éclair to take with you.”

Benson saw Jordan perk up and open his mouth to thank her, so he cut him off with, “No thank you.  We appreciate it, but we’re not allowed to eat the car.  Bureau policy.”

“Why that’s wretched of them.  How are people supposed to work?”

Benson shrugged.  “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

The teenage Asian girl took them back to the front of the house and told them to have a good day in broken English.

Benson felt like his feet were made of lead as they walked away from the house.  His vision was a little cloudy around the edges as they walked to the car, which they’d had to leave two blocks away because the street in front of the house and the driveway were filled with the vans of the companies providing the tent and the chairs for the entertainment.  When they reached the car, Benson didn’t unlock it.  He just sat on the hood, feeling too heavy to think or move or do much of anything.  Jordan didn’t comment but sat beside him.

The hood was really too hot to sit on, but they both ignored it.  It was just past noon and still a couple of hours away from the hottest part of the day, but it was sweltering.  Benson sweated under his suit and shirt and tie.  Cicadas buzzed in a rhythm that faded in and out around them.  Benson wasn’t too sure how long they sat in silence.  It couldn’t have been that long, it just felt like it.

“So, I guess…well,” Jordan started.  “Do we need to talk to the husbands or…?”

“No.  We got what we needed to know.”

“We did?” Jordan asked softly, looking down at the ground.

“The kids in there, and the ones at all the houses we’ve been too.  The young women too.  They’re not servants.  They’re slaves.  The money they’re hiding and laundering through the charity is to pay the traffickers.”

Jordan let out a heavy breath.

“And those are just the kids we saw.  The ones we didn’t see?  The ones locked in upstairs bedrooms—they’re being kept as sex slaves.  Maybe not every house has one like that, but I bet at least half do.”

Jordan made another heavy sigh.  “I mean…I guess I knew what I was seeing.  I just didn’t want to let myself see it.”

Benson let out a heavy sigh of his own.

“So, what should we do now?” Jordan asked.

“Well.  I think we need to go back to the office and talk to the Crimes Against Children Unit.  Find out if there are any known or suspected traffickers operating in the area.  The name associated with the final account in the laundering process is probably a fake, so it won’t help to get a warrant.  But the TTPT code is something only the bank could be arranging.  We could get permission to get surveillance on Podvodnik.  We might be able to see him handing off the money to someone else.”

Jordan nodded.  “Do we think The Lilac House is involved at all?  Or are they just being used unwittingly?”

“Podvodnik is one of the founders.  At least some people involved must be in on it.  And think about the format of the charity: it allows them to go to places that are rampant with human trafficking without arousing suspicions of why they keep taking so many trips there.”

“This is sick,” Jordan said.  “What, do they pick the weaklings out of the batch and then make a show of sending them back home for the charity?”

“Maybe.”

“This is sick,” he repeated, standing up to pace.

“It is.  Makes you wonder if trying to be good is actually fighting against human nature.”

“Well, I don’t think we need to be that dark about it.  Come on.  Innocent Images was absorbed by the Crimes Against Children Unit when they merged everything together.  I know a couple of guys we can reach out to for information.”

“Okay.”

Benson stood up and pushed away the heaviness so that he could focus.  They had work to do and there was no time to wallow in the melancholy induced by the reminder that humans could be truly evil to each other.

~~~

Jordan turned off his car and sat in the cool interior in the parking lot of his building.  If he opened the door he was just going to be accosted with a humidity that had risen to over 80% even though the temperature had dropped slightly when the sun had set.  It was after 9:00pm and he was only just now getting home from work.  The news of their discovery had lit fires under the asses of several people who needed to be tempered and reminded that they needed hard evidence before they could bust down doors and rescue the kids like big damn heroes.  It had been a long day of figuring out logistics and if the case would be transferred and soothing the egos of executive management who wanted to be in charge now that there was a (potential) human trafficking ring to bust in the area.

Nothing had been sorted out and they would be dealing with the same thing tomorrow.  All he wanted to do was go home, eat a Hot Pocket, take a shower, and crash into bed.  It wasn’t that late but he was bone tired.  For some reason dealing with the constant reminder of the kind of people they were trying to take down was exhausting.  Even chasing after Russ hadn’t been this bad.  Russ was sick in an extreme he’s too messed up to be human way.  But these people…these people didn’t bat an eyelash at stealing a child from their homes and owning them like livestock.  It was a different kind of evil, and in a way it was worse.

Jordan finally forced himself out of the car, grimacing at the wave of muggy air that clung to him like a wet, heavy blanket.  He locked his car and walked toward the front entrance of the building.  There was a girl hanging out by the doors, probably smoking.  But he didn’t see a cigarette in her hand.  And the closer he got he realized it wasn’t a girl, just a small woman.  He almost stopped in his tracks when he recognized her, and then he practically jogged over to her.

“Arella.”

She turned when he spoke her name.  She crossed her arms over her chest and didn’t look thrilled to be there, but she didn’t seem to be bitter or angry either.

“Hi, Jordan.”

“Um.  W-why are you here?  Not that I mind, but—”

“I’m not here for that.  This isn’t a social call.”

“It’s not?” he asked, truly confused.  “What is it then?”

“I need to talk to you about Flora.”

Jordan sighed and moved around her to unlock the door to the lobby.  “Arella, I don’t work there anymore.  There’s nothing I can do.  If you suspect something you should tell John or Chris.”

“We don’t know for sure they’re not in on it.”

Jordan started to answer that he did, but he actually wasn’t sure.  The company supported The Lilac House, not John or Chris individually, but how did he know that the two of them didn’t have child slaves in their homes?  He supposed he could find out.  If he called up John and offered to—no, nope.  Not a viable plan.

“So go to the police.”

“I don’t want to stir up trouble if it’s nothing.”

“Then what do you want me to do about it?”

She huffed out an annoyed sound.  “I—I guess I just need you to be a sounding board.  Let me know if it really is nothing.  Just let me tell you what I overheard.”

“Fine.  Come on up.”

Arella took a step back.  “I, uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asked, stung that she thought he might hurt her, even if just emotionally.

“Because if we go upstairs to your apartment with closed doors and—well, I’m mad at you.  But I’m not _that_ mad at you.”

She gave him a wry smile and Jordan smiled and looked away, feeling a faint blush.

“Alright, fine.  But at least come in the lobby where it’s air conditioned.  I’m dying here.”

“You are such a wimp.”

“And I’m fine with that if it means I get to be in air conditioning.”

He held the door open for her and then sighed in relief as he felt the cold air surround him.  He crossed the lobby and sat down on the low bench next to the mail boxes, letting his long legs splay awkwardly.  Arella fought a smile as she joined him, sitting close, but not enough to touch.

“So, what’s this information I have to know?”

“I overheard Flora talking on the phone.”

“You ‘overheard her,’ huh?” Jordan asked skeptically.

“Yes.  I was in in the bathroom and she came in and started talking and must not have realized I was there.  Don’t be an ass.”

Jordan put his hands in the air.  “Fine, fine.  Completely innocent.  What’d she say that was so damning?”

“She was talking to someone named Radek.  Does the name ring any bells?”

Jordan shook his head.  “No—”  Radek Podvodnik.  “Uh…No.  Did she indicate who he might be?”

“He’s the one she’s helping skim the money for.  Or not skim, hide or whatever.  She was complaining that it was getting too hot at Klein & Klein and she wanted to move the operation.  It was pretty obvious she didn’t want to be talking at work and kept telling him to call her back.  I couldn’t hear his side but after some arguing she eventually conceded to do one big, final transfer from everyone’s accounts to ‘cover the rest.’  ‘Cover the rest’ is a direct quote.  My guess is that she did it today or will tomorrow and will definitely be gone before the week is out.  I think if you don’t talk to her, she’s going to be in the wind soon.”

“What do you propose I do?  Stop her after work one day and ask her if she’s doing anything illegal?”

Arella inhaled and looked frustrated.  But oddly, not with him.  Finally she nodded.

“You’re right.  There’s nothing you can do.  I should probably tell Chris and John.”

Jordan chewed on his lip.  It would be a bad thing if Arella got Flora fired and she disappeared before they could bring her in.  But, if they picked her up before she got into work tomorrow morning, then Arella could tell John and Chris and they could get the program removed.  Possibly in enough time to prevent the final payment from going through.  It could be win/win—as long as they got to Flora in time.

“Yes, you should do that,” Jordan said.

Arella scooted forward on the seat so that she could turn and face Jordan more.  “What, tell John and Chris?  You want me to do that?  Get her fired?”

“Definitely.  If her program is doing something to illegally move or mask the movement of money, they should know about it so that they can protect their company.”

“What if they’re in on it?”

“I honestly don’t think they are.  But if you tell them and they do nothing, then you should go to the police.”

“So…that’s your big plan?”

Jordan shrugged.  “I’m a program management specialist who was ‘let go’ by the people who wanted me to find out if something was going on in their company.  It’s not my job anymore to tell them if I—we—you found something.”

Arella searched his face for a moment, her own carefully neutral.  She nodded.

“Okay.  I’ll tell Chris and John tomorrow.  But not until after lunch.  I hear they’ve got a special Greek menu planned.  If I get fired, I at least want baklava to comfort me.”

Jordan smiled.  “I think you’re safe from that.  Chris and John will be grateful for your help.  I’m not sure how you’ll be able to prove it to them without revealing how much snooping you’ve done, so…well, maybe you will get fired.”

Arella punched him lightly and Jordan chuckled.  They looked at each other—in one of those kind of clichéd prolonged moments.

“See?” Arella said.  “This is why I said we shouldn’t go upstairs.”

“Yeah.  You know…we still could go upstairs.”

Arella stood up and moved in front of him.  She put her hands on his shoulders and leaned down to look him in the eyes.

“I’m still kinda pissed at you for the brush off you gave me yesterday.  But…”  She leaned forward and kissed him.  He raised a hand to her cheek hoping to deepen the kiss, but she pulled back.  “I’ll get over it.  Eventually.”

She turned and walked toward the door.

“Let me know how it goes with John and Chris,” he said.

She kept walking, but raised a hand and waggled her fingers in the air.  Jordan sat for a moment, debating whether or not he should try to make the decision about telling Arella a partial truth so that they could be together or just completely cutting her out of his life.  He decided he didn’t have the strength to decide that tonight.  He checked his mail and took the stairs to his floor.  He hadn’t been going to the gym as regularly the last few weeks, so he tried to exercise wherever he could.  Once he was out of the stairwell, he called Benson.  He got his voicemail, so he left him a message.

Inside his apartment he dropped the mail on the coffee table and then pulled four Hot Pockets out of the freezer.  He’d be full after three, but what was the point of leaving one lonely Hot Pocket in the box?  He leaned on the counter and watched his sad dinner spin in the microwave.  He picked up his phone and called Benson again.  He got his voicemail.  When his meal was warm, he sat on the couch, turned on the TV and found a west coast baseball game still playing, and carefully nibbled around the edges of one of the ham and cheese pockets.  After he burned his tongue on the cheese, he set the plate aside, casting it a baleful glare, and tried calling Benson again.  This time he answered.

“Oh, my God, what, Jordan?!  Is someone dead?  If they are, I apologize, but if they’re not dead can’t you wait for me to call you back?”

“Well, it’s kind of important.”

“Important enough to disrupt me _three_ times during phone sex?”

Jordan froze and made a face.  _Oh, ew._   “I—”

“Oh, yeah, that feels so good—beep beep beep!  There’s Jordan!”

“Baby, calm down.”

Jordan started when he heard Oska’s voice.  “Oska?”

“Hey, Jordan.”

“Why are you two having phone sex if you’re together?”

“We’re not," Benson said.  "I conference called you in.”

“You two really do want a three-way with me,” Jordan accused in a scandalized whisper.

Oska just started laughing.

“Jordan.  Not interested, pal.  You’re going to have to explore your Kinsey 1 curiosity with someone else.”

“That’s not—”

Oska’s laughter dissolved into giggles.

“I hate you guys.”

“What’s so urgent, Jordan?”

“Arella…Arella…Oska can you stop laughing?”

Oska laughed harder, but his voice faded, so he must have moved the phone away.

“Arella stopped by to see me today.”

“Really?”

“Is Arella the receptionist from the undercover job?” Oska asked.

“Are you telling him all the details of our case?” Jordan asked Benson.

“No.  Just the details of your personal life.”

“Personally, Jordan,” Oska said, “I don’t think you should feel bad about sleeping with her.  She doesn’t know your name or occupation, but she knows you.  You know?”

“I guess.  But that’s not what this is about.  She said she overheard Flora talking on the phone to Podvodnik.”

“Wait, did she actually use his name?” Benson asked.  “Does she know who he is?”

“No, she said some guy named ‘Radek.’  I don’t think that’s a coincidence though.”

“Probably not.  So, was that all?”

“No, she said that Flora was telling him that she thought the company was catching on, so she wanted to get out.  But Podvodnik convinced her to make one last transfer from all of the accounts to ‘cover the rest.’  That’s the quote.”

“Cover the rest…if this is for human trafficking, that could mean that they’re bringing over more victims soon.”

“Flora is probably going to run after she makes the final transfer.  I think we ought to pick her up and interview her.”

“Right now?”

“No…” Oska whined softly.  And then, “Sorry.  I’m not here.”

“No, I don’t have her home address, and even if we went into the office to make a request for it, I think it’d just be easier to wait for her outside Klein & Klein and pick her up in the morning.”

“What if she made the transaction today and is on her way out of town tonight?”

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do then.  If she was leaving today, she’s probably gone by now.  If she doesn’t show up at work in the morning, we can look up her address and see if she’s still packing or getting ready to go.  But if her plans were to leave tonight I think she’d be long gone by the time we got her address and went there.”

“Well, your logic is unassailable.  Do you know what time she normally gets into work?”

“Usually closer to ten than nine, but she might be spooked enough to come in early.”

“Okay.  How about we meet at the office at six, and then we’ll decide how we want to approach her before going to Klein & Klein.”

“Sounds good.  See you in the morning.”

“Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Jordan,” Oska said.  “Sweet dreams.”

“I hate you most of all, Oska Mercer.”

He snickered and Benson groaned softly in annoyance.

“Hey, are you taking Benson’s name?” Jordan asked.

“Traditionally the one marrying into the more prominent family is the one who takes the name.  My wealth is actually quite prominent, so really he should be Benson Mercer.  Plus, Oska Remick sounds weird.”

“But you don’t have a family,” Jordan said.

“Jesus, Jordan,” Benson said softly.

“Oh, shit, I am so sorry.”  Jordan felt like he’d been socked in the gut with a battering ram that was somehow constructed out of pure embarrassment and shame.

“Jordan, it’s okay,” Oska said.  “Really.  We actually hadn’t discussed it, but I just assumed we’d keep our own names.”

“You did?” Benson asked.

“Okay, apparently I’ve opened up a can of worms; I apologize,” Jordan said.  “I’m going to hang up before I say anything else that makes me want to sink into a hole in the ground.”

“Jordan, really, it’s fine," Oska tried to reassure him.

“Well, I’m still sorry.  Goodnight.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Jordan disconnected himself from the call and glanced at his cooled Hot Pocket.  He’d lost his appetite due to his asinine comment.  He glanced at the plate again.  Well, maybe he hadn’t.  He picked up his dinner and chomped down into processed goodness.  Ann had been appalled by his diet and had somewhat broken him of his bad habits, even when they’d been doing the long distance thing.

And now he was thinking about Ann.  He twisted on the couch and allowed himself to face plant onto the cushions.

 

**Wednesday, August 13, 2014**

 

 Benson sat in the outdoor seating area of a coffee shop that was located on the bottom floor of the building that housed Klein & Klein.  He’d easily be able to see Flora approaching and intercept her before she got inside.  He’d been at the café for about an hour and a half already.  The coffee he had bought had gone cold.  Jordan was waiting in the car around the block because they didn’t want any other Klein & Klein employees to see him.  It was coming up on nine o’clock and hardly anyone had come into the building who wasn’t getting coffee.  He wondered who all these people were in the world that they could show up to work whenever.  Or maybe he just went to work too early.

He checked his phone for messages again, but like two minutes ago, he didn’t have any.  He wasn’t really expecting Oska to text him—he would be in class by now.  They had their last written test on Friday.  He wasn’t concerned that Oska wouldn’t pass, but he knew that he’d be spending tonight and tomorrow night studying.  They had agreed that last night would be their last late night until after the last test.  And unfortunately due to Jordan’s call and question, they hadn’t finished the night the way he’d expected it to culminate.  Instead they’d talked about Oska Remick and Benson Mercer and Benson and Oska Mercer-Remick.  Like Oska had said, they hadn’t talked about it.  Probably because it had never occurred to them that they would change their names.

Oska had suggested that maybe they should create a whole brand new name that was their own.  He’d suggested Geemen and Awesometon and Drydraluxlaloud and Benson was left wondering why he was marrying such an odd man.  He’d played along a little bit and said that they should at least use a combination of their names if they were going to make a new name.  That had led to such duds as Remcer and Meck.  And then there had been Mermick which had left them snorting with laughter until Oska pointed out that Mercer was actually his mother’s maiden name because he’d rejected his biological father’s name but hadn’t wanted to take his stepfather’s name until he thought it had been too late to ask and now that he was dead he regretted not doing it.  And…that kind of brought the whole night down.  They’d decided to just keep their names as is.  It would mean a lot less paperwork.

He checked his phone again, and then spotted Flora Vasquez coming down the sidewalk out of the corner of his eye.  He picked up his phone and cup, putting the former in his pocket and the latter in the trash as he walked over to the building entrance to intercept Flora.  She spotted him approaching her and attempted to avoid him the way women do when they didn’t want to have to deal with a man.  He stepped to the side to block her path and her face pinched tightly with anger.  He quickly pulled out his credentials.

“Flora Vasquez?  I’m Special Agent Benson Remick with the FBI.  I’d like to ask you a few questions—”

He saw her whole body tense and could sense the torque she was about employ to spin around and run away.

“Don’t run,” he said quickly.  “You’re not under arrest.  I just have some questions.”

She still looked poised to bolt.

“If you run, I will have reason to arrest you, and then you’ll really be in it.  We’ve got bigger fish to fry, and if you help us, you might get out of this without too much of a headache.”

He was lying through his teeth.  Not a single person involved with this ring was getting off, but the lie worked.  Flora nodded and crossed her arms over her chest.

“What do you want to know?”

“I think we need to have this talk at the field office.”

She sighed.  “Okay.”

Benson led her to the car, walking beside her close enough to grab her if she got stupid and made a run for it.  When Jordan spotted them he got out of the car and Flora recognized him immediately.

“Shit,” she cursed softly.  “I’m not going to be able to bluff my way out this, am I?”

“Sorry, Flora.”  He opened the backdoor for her and then slid in after her.

Benson got into the front seat and drove the ten minutes to WFO.  They took Flora to one of the interview rooms on the first floor: a small cramped space that barely had enough room for a small table and four chairs.  Flora sat down on one side and Benson on the other.  Jordan remained standing because his legs always bumped the underside of the short tables in the interview rooms.  Benson turned on a recording device.

“Do I need a lawyer?” Flora asked.

“You’re not under arrest,” Benson replied.

“So…does that mean, no, or…”

“What it means is that you’re not under arrest and you’re free to leave at any time.  We would like for you to cooperate and answer some questions for us.  Now if during the course of the interview you confess to illegal activity, we may have to reevaluate the situation.  But, like I said before, we’re after the people who are running the operation.  We’re willing to negotiate if need be.”

“So, let me get this straight.  All you have are suspicions, which is why you didn’t arrest me.  And if I start giving you information on the higher ups, all I really do is incriminate myself so that you can arrest me.  Plus, anything he,” she nodded toward Jordan, “found out while at Klein & Klein is invalid.  Like illegal search and seizure or whatever.  This is ridiculous.  I never should have come.  I’m gone.”

Flora stood and Jordan moved in front of the door, holding out a placating hand.

“Wait, Flora.  The information I gathered is legal because Chris and John both knew that I work for the FBI and allowed me to go undercover there.  You don’t have an expectation of privacy in the work place.  Especially if the people who own the company give permission for law enforcement to review their company records.  We also lawfully obtained a subpoena to review the bank records of six clients at Potomac First.”

Her eyes widened and then cut to the left.

“Yeah, we know about Potomac First and the same bank account numbers with the different routing numbers.  We know that these six clients are having their money laundered through The Lilac House.”

Flora started looking a little pale and glanced back and forth between them.

“We know that you’ve installed your program into at least seven different investment firms across the country.  We know that Radek Podvodnik is involved and that you’ve been instructed to do one last money transfer before you leave Klein & Klein.  We do have some questions, but we’d like you to fill us in on how the scam works.”

“Look, it’s not a scam, alright?  We’re not stealing from anybody or manipulating the stocks or defrauding the investment companies.  All of the clients are aware that their money is being put into two separate bank accounts.  If they’ve provided account numbers that are not on the up, well, then that’s on them.  I haven’t done anything illegal.  My program works as advertised.  So, I’m walking out of here.”

“Can you really live with yourself working for these people?” Benson demanded loudly, startling Flora.  “The fact that your part is technically legal is good enough for you?  Who cares that these people are kidnappers and slavers, right?  Not your problem.”

“Benson,” Jordan said softly, but Benson didn’t want to calm down.

Flora rolled her eyes.  “Dios mio.  Come on, man.  Don’t be so dramatic.  They’re rich assholes.  Yeah, so what?  I mean they hide a little money to avoid taxes or buy black market luxury items.  Big deal.  It’s not fucking life or death.”

“Flora,” Jordan said getting her attention.  “Do you not know what they do with the money after you hide it for them?”

She shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Drugs probably.  Or they’re buying pet tigers or something.”

“The ‘or something’ is people,” Benson snapped.

Flora glanced at him, and then back at Jordan.  “What’s he talking about?”

“Flora.  The money the clients are hiding is being used to pay human traffickers to bring stolen children into America to be used as slaves in their homes.”

Flora kind of scoffed and then glanced between them.  “You’re joking…”  She trailed off as she took in their faces.  Then she slowly sat back down into her seat.  “Are you guys serious?”

“Deadly serious,” Benson said.

She stared slack jawed at the table for a moment, and then she sat up straight and waved her hands.

“Hey.  I didn’t know about that.  I swear.  I was just hired to develop a program that would be desirable software for investment firms.  That way a select few number of people at each location could stealthily deposit their own money into a different account.  What they did with it after that I didn’t know.”

“You’ve been doing it for almost eight years now.  You had no idea what they were doing with the money?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?  Seriously, that’s messed up, okay?  My family is from Colombia.  I know how vulnerable kids are and the kind of horrifying shit that can happen to them.  I would never be involved or helping if I knew that’s what they were doing.  And how do you know they are?”

“What can you tell us about Radek Podvodnik?” Benson asked, ignoring her question.  “You’ve been working with him since the beginning, right?”

Flora glanced back and forth between them and then slumped down in her chair.

“He recruited me out of MIT.  Gave me some spiel about how the American government was overtaxing its citizens—I didn’t really care.  I think it was just a speech to try to rouse in me a will to subvert the government in order to get me to work for him without asking too many questions.  But seriously, I didn’t care about anything but the money.  He said that he would pay me fifty grand a year on top of whatever salary I earned working at the companies I sold my program to.”

“What can you tell us about the last payment he asked you to do today?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Flora,” Jordan said.  “Please answer.”

She sighed.  “The program is set up so that every two months enough money has been diverted from the six accounts—or however many there are depending on the location—to cover the cost of something.  I don’t know what.  I wasn’t even told about the minimums until about three years ago.  Someone at the company I was working for was poking around the program and asking questions.  So I turned off the double deposit function for one month so he wouldn’t find anything if he snooped.  At the end of the month Podvodnik lost his shit on me.  I explained—well, after a lot of shouting back and forth he finally admitted that there is a minimum amount of money that needs to be deposited into the other accounts at the end of two months.

“He has to have time to consolidate it, launder it, and then withdraw it.  He does it every three months.  The amount he needs is different every month.  Usually it’s pretty low, but about once a year the amount is significantly higher.  It’s why I adjusted the program to have the ‘assess fees before depositing’ function.  Basically it hides exactly how much comes back from the securities so that when large chunks of money need to go missing from the clients’ regular bank accounts, there’s no record that there was ever supposed to be that much in it.  I thought it was tax related,” she finished with a shrug.

“So I take it this two month cycle is one that needs a very large deposit.  How much?”

“Twenty K.”

“Twenty thousand dollars?  How are investment firms not noticing this kind of money isn’t coming back in from their clients’ investments?” Benson asked.

“Because it’s chump change.  They deal in the millions.”

“I don’t understand something,” Jordan said.  “Twenty thousand from each client, or total?”

“Total.”

“That’s not that much.  Is that enough to cover the cost of a slave?”

“More than enough,” Benson said.  “The average cost of a human slave is around $90-$120.”

“That’s all?” Flora asked.

“These people don’t value human life, and there’s no shortage of commodity in desperately poor third world countries.  I suspect the large lump sum once a year is when new shipments come in and they have to pay for the cargo containers, the crew to move them, the costs of storing and feeding them until they’re sold.”

“Do you really not know anything about where or who the money goes to?” Jordan asked.

Flora shook her head.  “I know that it goes to Potomac First and that Podvodnik handles it from there.”

“Did Podvodnik handle the money at the other banks?  In the other cities where you worked?”

“I don’t know.  I guess so.  I don’t know how he launders the money.  I’d never heard of The Lilac House until today.  Am I…”  She lost her voice for a moment and had to swallow.  “Am I going to be charged with…slavery, or whatever?”

Benson sat back and crossed his arms.  He still wasn’t entirely convinced that she really didn’t know anything.

“No, you won’t be held accountable for any charges directly related to that,” Jordan said, “but you were aware that your program was used in order to make illegal money transfers for eventual laundering.  That is a crime.  But…if you help us…”

“How?”

Benson answered.  “You’re going to go into Klein & Klein today.  You’re going to make the final transfer and let Podvodnik know that it was successful.”

“Then what?”

“We’ll handle that.”

“And what’s going to happen to me?”

“That depends on if you cooperate with us.”

“And if you don’t do anything stupid like try to run,” Jordan added.

Flora nodded.  “Okay.  So, just go to work and make the transfer.  Should I continue to go to Klein & Klein after today?”

“Yes,” Benson said.  “And convince Podvodnik that there’s nothing to be concerned about anymore.  Tell him the QC guy finished his work and concluded that there was nothing suspicious and left.”

She nodded.  “So, I can go now?”

Jordan nodded.  “We’ll escort you out.”

“And seriously, Flora,” Benson warned.  “Don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t.  I promise.  I really, truly had no idea what I was supporting here.  I want it to stop.  I’ll help.”

“Okay, come with me,” Jordan said.  “I’ll take you to the exit.”

“How will I get back to Klein & Klein?”

“The Judiciary Square metro stop is less than a block away.”

“Great,” she said dryly.

Benson patted Jordan on the shoulder.  “I’ll see you upstairs.”

“Okay.”

Benson rode the elevator up to his floor and hurried over to his squad.  He walked straight to his desk and peeked over the divide.

“Ainsley.  Hey.”

Ainsley looked up.  “Hey, Benson.  What’s up?”

“Did you ever find any information about local banks in the other cities?”

“Oh!  Yes.  I was going to confirm the last two before I showed you, but I’ve got four and that establishes a great pattern.”  He hopped up onto his knees on his chair and leaned his arms on the divide.  “Okay, so I found banks similar to Potomac First and Salt River First in four of the other cities.  All less than fifteen years old, a small clientele, and they’re all single institution banks—no other branches anywhere.  Now, they aren’t owned by Radek Podvodnik, but they show that they’re managed by a board of trustees.  The board members all have other businesses that they manage and are basically just involved with the banks as another source of income.  They’ve outsourced the management of the banks to a small company called Professional Management, Inc.”

“That’s a little on the nose.”

“Business names that clearly state their business usually do better than ones with fancy names.”

“Okay.  So, is there anything interesting about Professional Management, Inc?”

“Nothing especially in terms of business practices or lawsuits or complaints.  They provide bank managers to local banks.”

“Is there something else?”

“Yep.  Professional Management, Inc. is owned by Radek Podvodnik.  And let me tell you—he has that information buried.  But I was able to find it by cross-referencing tax documents with LLC filings and—”

“Benson.”

Internally, Benson jumped for joy that he was being spared the details of Ainsley’s epic week of research.

“Oh, hang on, Ainsley.  Thank you for the information.”

“Sure.  Anything to nail this bastard.”

Benson gave him a nod and turned to Jordan.

“Did she get off okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you think she’ll run?”

Jordan shook his head.  “No.  I mean, I’m not at 100%, but I believed her when she said that she didn’t know about the trafficking.  She seemed appalled and like she genuinely wants to help put Podvodnik behind bars.”

“Well, all we can do with her is cross our fingers.”

“If you don’t trust her, why did you tell her to go through with the transaction?”

“Because I think she’ll do at least that much.  We don’t actually have any proof of the trafficking part.  We need to connect Podvodnik or the clients with paying for the children.  If we scare him off now, he may just get careful for a while or change his MO.  He may warn the clients and it’s possible they might dispose of the slaves they already have.”

“And by dispose you mean…” Jordan trailed off.

“Yes.”

“So, do you plan to put Podvodnik under surveillance?  Catch him when he gets the money and gives it to whomever is supplying him with the kids?”

“We can put him under surveillance.  Probably will.  But there’s a possibility that someone else makes a withdrawal from the bank and makes the delivery.  More than likely that’s the case.  I doubt Podvodnik is dumb enough to touch the money himself.”

“So how do you plan to link him to the trafficking?”

“We’re going to get a pen register and a trap and trace on Podvodnik’s phone and electronic accounts.  If we can get records of him communicating with the nine suspects here as well as the list of names we got from Mesa—and maybe Ainsley can wrangle a few more names from the other five businesses—that should show that a link exists outside of him simply managing the bank.  Then we can monitor the communications and see if we can find out where he stores the kids before they’re sold or when the next shipment is coming in.”

“Don’t we have enough with the money laundering to get a title monitor on him?”

“On him, but not the clients.  We wouldn’t be able to access the conversations he’s had with them because that would be a violation of their rights.”  It put a bitter taste in his mouth to acknowledge that those depraved monsters had rights.  “Once we prove a connection with Podvodnik and the charity and the program and we have Flora’s testimony that they were complicit in the money transfers, then we’ll legally be able to listen to their conversations as well.  Until then, we have to slow play this.  And hope that Flora doesn’t sell us out.”

Jordan sat down in his chair.  “If it weren’t for that pesky Constitution…” he sighed dramatically.

Benson smiled.  “I’ll start on the pen register if you do the trap and trace.”

“Aye, aye.”

~~~

Jordan walked up to his apartment building, half expecting to find Arella waiting outside.  The space under the awning was empty though, and he tried not to acknowledge his feelings of disappointment and relief.  Inside the lobby he opened his mailbox and let out a little sound of happiness.

“Costco coupons,” he whispered to himself.

He was so busy looking through that week’s deals that when he stepped off the elevator he didn’t notice that the hallway wasn’t empty.  He got all the way to his door before he looked up and found Arella watching him.  He jumped and put a hand to his chest, clutching his coupons.

“Criminey.  How did you get in here?”

“Someone held the door open for me.”

“Oh.  Politeness is going to get someone killed someday.”

“It probably already has.”

“Cheery,” Jordan said as he unlocked the door.  “Why are you here?”

“Can we go inside first?”

“Sure, sure.  Come on in.”

Jordan entered his apartment and dropped his mail off on the coffee table.  He turned around and put his hands on his waist.  Arella stayed by the door.

“So, what brings you here tonight?  Overhear anymore secret conversations?  Or did Chris and John fire you and you want revenge and/or comfort sex?”

Arella gave him a mild look, but she was mostly smiling.  “None of the above.  I never told Chris and John.  I wanted to know what you found out from Flora.”

“What makes you think I talked to Flora?”

“She showed up to work two hours late.  Because some obvious looking fed intercepted her at the building door.  I assume you must have…called the police or the FBI or something.”

“And if I did…I certainly wouldn’t be privy to what they talked about.”

“Come on, Jordan.  What did she say?  Does she know what the final payment is for?  When it’s coming in?  Where?”

“Arella, I don’t know—”

“Oh, cram it.  I know you’re a fed.  That’s why I told you about the conversation Flora had with Podvodnik.  What did she say?”

Jordan’s jaw dropped.  His mind was spinning with confusion and questions.

“H-how did you know I—how do you know who Podvodnik is?”

“I told you I overheard her talking.”

“You said to someone named Radek.  You never game me a last name.”

“That doesn’t mean she didn’t say it.  Look, it’s unimportant.  When and where is the next shipment coming in?”

“What do you now about the next shipment?  What do you know about any of this?  How did you—what makes you think I’m fed?  Arella, you—”

“Agent Szustakowski—”

Jordan sucked in a breath.

“I know who you are.  Okay?  I know your name and I know you’re FBI.  Why do you think I told you about the conversation in the first place?  Because I knew it would help your investigation.  Now, I’ve helped you.  You help me.  What did she say?  Do you know anything about the shipment?  Is Klein & Klein involved?  Do you have an open investigation to anyone running The Lilac House?”

“Arella…who are you?”

“Jordan, just—”

“Tell me who you are or I’m going to place you under arrest and take you in.”

“Arrest me for what?” she asked incredulously.

“Interfering in a federal investigation for one.  We’ll see if identity theft comes into play.”

“Stop posturing.  I haven’t interfered with anything.  You’d still be chasing your tails if I hadn’t provided you with information.”

Not entirely true, but also not entirely wrong either.

“Arella, for the last time—”

“No, that’s my line.  What do you know about the next shipment?”

“Nothing!  Okay?  We know nothing.  We don’t know when, where, what, who, how.  Nothing.”

“Jordan, you have to do something.  You can't sit on this.”

“Why are you so worried?  It’s just drugs.  It doesn’t matter when we get it.”

“Drugs?!  Oh, my God.”  Arella turned and ran her hands through her hair.  She turned to look at him again.  “Right, drugs.  Okay.  You guys do what you need to do then.  I guess it’s good to know that it’s not anything serious then.”

Arella spun around and walked to the door.  Jordan ran after her and slammed the door shut before she got it open half an inch.  She gasped and turned toward him as he leaned over her.

“What do you know, Arella?  Do you know anything specific about what the money laundering is for?  We’re assuming it’s drugs.  Do you know it’s not?”

“N-no.  I didn’t know either.  I guess…”  Arella took a moment to compose herself and then smiled.  “I’m sorry.  I got caught up in the whole PI thing.  I guess I was hoping for some kind of international, scandalous story.”  She shrugged.  “Overactive imagination.  I’m sorry I jumped all over you.  I guess it makes sense that it’s drugs.  It’s always drugs, right?”

Jordan looked her over, taking in her calm face, her apologetic smile, and sincere eyes.  But there was a tightness around those eyes and her smile.  There was something not quite right about this.  Her story didn’t seem completely implausible, but he knew it was bullshit too.

“How did you know I’m a fed?”  He didn’t see the point of trying to deny it at this point.

“I saw your ID, remember?  When you paid for lunch once.  Your last name didn’t match the name you introduced yourself as.  So I Googled you to find out if you were a serial killer.  When I saw that you were an FBI agent, I realized that you must be working undercover to investigate Klein & Klein.  That’s why I helped you.  I thought it would be exciting if there was something more going on than just some fraudulent securities.  I mean, I guess smuggling drugs is something, but I apologize for trying to go conspiracy theory on you or something.”

She gave him another smile.  She didn’t look nervous or anxious.  She just kind of looked embarrassed.  Jordan relaxed slightly.

“And really, if anyone should be mad it’s totally me.  I mean, you totally let me think you were some computer nerd from Pennsylvania and seduced me into your bed.”

“I seduced you?  I don’t think…”  He trailed off.  Had he done the pursuing?

Arella patted him on the arm.  “It’s okay.  Like part of me thinks I should be angry, but I’m not because I feel like…I know who I was with.  You were you.  You’re actually not very good at the undercover thing.”

Jordan huffed.  “I’m not trained for it.  It was a last minute thing.”

“It’s okay.  I’m glad I was able to help a little bit.  I’ll keep watching the news for a story about a big drug bust.  And then boast a little on the inside.”

She moved to open the door again and he stopped her.

“Arella…I still want to know who—”

His cell phone rang.  He stopped and pulled it out of his pocket just in case it was Benson calling.  He looked at the screen and stared at Antoinette’s name.  Ignoring her was juvenile and stupid.

“I think you better take that,” Arella said.  She swiped her finger over the screen, answering the call.  Jordan started and halfway raised the phone to his ear and then he saw Arella opening the door to slip outside.

“Jordan?” came Ann’s voice.

He couldn’t decide if he should stop Arella and ask her more questions.  Her story made sense, but…

“Jordan?”

He let Arella go and put the phone to his ear.  “Hi.  Ann.”

“Hey.  Thanks for answering.”

“S-sure.”

Jordan walked away from the door and sat down on the couch.

“I wanted to apologize for the other night.  I shouldn’t have shown up without warning like that.  I hope…I hope I didn’t upset your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“She’s not?”

The hope in her voice felt like a vice squeezing his heart.

“N-no.  Just a…”  He stopped because he’d almost said source.  And that was a sure fire way to get his ass fired if Ann reported him.  Plus, Arella wasn’t actually a source.  Not an official one anyway.  “She’s just a friend.”

“A pretty good friend.”

“Yeah, well, you know.  Um…”

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t be asking.  I just wanted to call to apologize and tell you I won’t do it again.”

“Do what?”

“Just drop by.”

“E-ever?”

“Well.  It’s probably better than…well.  I don’t know.  Do you?” she asked in a small voice.

Jordan licked his lips and thought about it.  Never talk to Ann again?  He didn’t want that.  Ann must have interpreted his silence as a bad thing though.

“Well.  I guess that’s my answer.  So, sorry again.”

“No, no.  Not my answer.  I…I just think we’d have to take our time again.  Or something.”

“I understand.  Goodnight, Jordan.”

“Goodnight, Ann.”

She hung up and Jordan tossed his phone onto the table and dry washed his face.  That goodnight had sounded an awful lot like goodbye.

**Thursday, August 14, 2014**

 

Jordan did a second set of twenty reps on the pull-up bar.  He had to cross his ankles and bend his knees because he was too tall for it otherwise.  There were several other agents as tall if not taller than him at WFO.  He really ought to make a case that they needed to install one of those adjustable bars so that the tall people didn’t have to squat to reach it and the short agents didn’t have to jump up and dangle off the floor like kids in gym class.

He got his feet under him and stood up and shook out his arms.  He heard humming behind him and turned to find Benson mumble-singing as he ran on the treadmill.  He didn’t seem to be aware that he was doing it.  Jordan would have pointed it out to him and made fun of him for it, but he actually sounded pretty good.

“There you are!”

Jordan started and turned toward the gym entrance.  Benson noticed the movement and turned off the machine.  He stood on the edges and looked over his shoulder, popping out his earbuds.

“We’ve been looking all over for you guys!” Bob yelled at them.

“What?  Why?  It’s 6:30am,” Jordan said.  “We’re technically not even on the clock yet.”

“Someone surrendered himself to us this morning.  He says he’ll only talk to Benson.”

“Who is it?” Benson asked.

“Radek Podvodnik.”

Jordan and Benson exchanged looks.  From his expression, Benson was just as confused as Jordan.  Podvodnik had to know that they suspected him of something, but there was no way he would know that they knew enough to arrest him.  The only reason they hadn’t was because they were trying to wait until they had more information on the upcoming shipment.

“Well don’t stand there holding your dicks.  Get showered, get dressed, and get upstairs to interview room two.  ASAP.”

“Yes, sir.”

They showered and dressed in record time and found Radek Podvodnik waiting for them in the biggest of the three interviews rooms.  It wasn’t all that big, but the furniture fit with enough room for Podvodnik, his lawyer, three agents, and an SSA.  Sort of.  It was cramped.  Jordan remained standing.

“Mr. Podvodnik,” Benson started.  “We’re surprised to see you here.”

“Don’t answer that,” his lawyer said.

Everyone, including Podvodnik, looked at him.  He shrank back a little.

“Sorry.”

Jordan could see Benson fight an eye roll and turn back to Podvodnik.

“Can you tell us why you’ve come here today?”

“Well, I received several phone calls in the past couple of days from clients who called in a panic telling me that they’d received visits from the FBI.  After I’d had my meeting with you Agent Remick, I thought you had been persuaded by my arguments.  Apparently that wasn’t the case because when the clients called, I recognized exactly who they all were.  And I knew you knew more than you were saying.  I decided to come in and confess and tell you everything I know about the operation.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?” Bob grunted.

“For immunity of course.”

“Absolutely not,” Benson said bluntly.  “You want immunity on human trafficking charges?”

“I’m just the money guy,” Podvodnik shrugged.  “I’m not involved in any other part.  I don’t partake of the services myself.  I don’t recruit the buyers, I don’t organize the pickups, I don’t know anything about where the kids are kept or how they’re treated.  I was just asked to launder the money.  I realize it’s for a despicable reason, but it was sadly a case of out of sight out of mind.

“Now, I can get you the names of all of the buyers I launder money for through Potomac First and The Lilac House.  There is only one person at the charity who knows what is going on.  I can provide documentation that shows they knew what the money was being used for and I believe there is even a way of proving that the people they have possession of came from the traffickers.  That way if someone is missing, you’ll know if you need to look into murder charges or find out if they sold them to someone else.”

“Is that all?” Benson asked.  “We have their names.  Including the ones from the six other cities you’re ‘just the money guy’ for.”

Podvodnik shifted, his eyes flashing.  The lawyer glanced at him.

“In addition to the six you've found, there are four others.  I can give you those as well.  Also, I don’t think you know who the inside man is at The Lilac House.  And…I can give you the slavers themselves.  I know when the next shipment is coming in.  I know that it’s actually the second half of one shipment.  I don’t know where they store the children.  But if you catch the slavers and free the ones on the ship, you will be able to interrogate them and hopefully locate the ones that were brought in last week.”

Jordan crossed his arms and looked around the room.  Johnston and Bob were looking to Benson.  It really was insane that Benson wasn’t an SSA.  Everyone always looked to him like he was in charge anyway.  Benson glanced at Bob, saw that he was looking to him, and turned back to Podvodnik, clearing his throat.

“We might be able to get you reduced sentencing.  You have to understand why we can’t let you walk away from this.”

“I’ll tell you why you will.  If they don’t get the all clear from me, they won’t come.  They’ll probably dump their current cargo in the ocean.  They’ll disappear from this area and find new clients elsewhere.  The batch of kids already here will starve to death before they’re found.”

“You think threatening to be responsible for the deaths of dozens of children is going to grease the wheels with us?” Jordan asked, a hard edge to his voice.

“I’m saying that I can give you over a hundred clients who have bought humans to use as slaves in their homes.  I can give you the money man at the charity and the one who makes the delivery of the cash to the procurers.  I can give you the date and time of the next shipment, and I can guarantee you that I can get them to think that everything is good and will go ahead as scheduled.  What you do from there is up to you, and all I ask is to stay out of jail and to keep my reputation intact so that I can retire in peace to Boca.  Or wherever people retire.  I don’t want my wife or children to know about this.”

Benson crossed his arms and sat back in his chair.  Jordan knew he didn’t want to make the call without discussing it out of Podvodnik’s hearing.  He cleared his throat and got Bob’s attention.  Jordan nodded his head toward the door.

“Mr. Podvodnik.  We’re going to discuss this with our own lawyers.  We’d like for you to stay here until we come back.”

Podvodnik inclined his head.  “Of course.”

The agents filed out of the room and an FBI police officer was placed to guard the door.  The group moved to another interview room and stood around the table to discuss the situation.

“Do we believe him?” Johnston asked.  “Is this something we can even consider?”

“I don’t really want to,” Benson replied.  “Even if he’s never bought a victim for himself and really is only the money guy—he deserves jail time.  And a lot of it.”

“So the question is, do we really need his information?” Jordan asked.  “We can get him without a confession, right?”

“Yes,” Bob said.  “The money laundering is clearly documented.  But what about everything else?”

“The nine households that we’ve identified as having or potentially having slaves are tied to the money laundering as well.  We can also send Child Protective Services into their homes based on an anonymous tip.  If they try to identify the children or explain where they came from they probably won’t be able to.  I doubt Nicole’s and or Jeanette’s names are actually Nicole or Jeanette.”

“Not everyone we saw was a child though.”

“We could get a warrant for the others based on the money laundering and the association with other human slavers.”

“Okay,” Bob said, “so far we don’t need him.  What about the six known and four supposed other cities where this is occurring?”

“Ainsley was able to find a connection between Podvodnik and at least four banks in the known cities,” Benson said.  “If we subpoena their records we should be able to determine that laundering is occurring there as well.  My guess is that we’ll find the same TTPT code.”

“We should also be able to get Flora to tell us if there are cities that weren’t on her resume that we should look into,” Jordan added.  “She’s cooperating with us right now.”

“Okay.”  Bob crossed his arms.  “What about the person connected to the charity or the money courier?”

“The money courier should be easy,” Johnston said.  “We put a watch on the account.  As soon as money is withdrawn, we should have a location on him and at the very least get a picture of his face at the bank or ATM if not be able to get to him in time to arrest him.”

“The person at the charity should be fairly easy to smoke out once we access their records,” Benson said.  “And with the proof of the money laundering through their finances, we should be able to subpoena their records.”

“So, we can get everyone without Podvodnik,” Bob said.  “Should we turn him down and just arrest his ass?”

“Well, we don’t have everyone,” Jordan said.  “The slavers themselves are an unknown.  And will be wholly unconnected to the money trail we’ve uncovered if they get paid strictly in cash.  Podvodnik says they need the all clear from him to proceed.  If he’s in jail he can’t give the signal, and then very likely they will dump the cargo or best case scenario, sell it somewhere else.  There’s the matter of the kids that are currently being held—somewhere—who will die if they are abandoned.  And even if Podvodnik doesn’t give the all clear, if the courier picking up the money and dropping it off is enough of a signal, we still don’t know when or where they will come in.”

“I think we know where,” Benson said.  “The slip in the Port of Baltimore that The Lilac House rents.  What we need is the when.”

“We could put round the clock surveillance on the slip,” Johnston suggested.  “After all, this is supposed to be taking place sometime soon so we wouldn’t have people sitting out there for weeks or months.  And we could ask the Baltimore Field Office for support.”

“That still runs the risk of assuming that Podvodnik doesn’t have to give the all clear,” Jordan said.  “I know Podvodnik is scum, but I don’t know if putting him in jail is more important than saving children’s lives.”

Everyone had their arms crossed now as they considered Jordan’s words.  Jordan didn’t like the idea of granting immunity to Podvodnik anymore than Benson did, but all he could picture was a documentary he’d seen several years ago where twenty-one people had been found dead in a cargo container after being abandoned by their kidnappers.  Sometimes bargaining with the devil was the way to prevent the most evil.

“Is there any way we can still get him charged with something but avoid jail time for him?” Benson asked.

“He also had the clause about his reputation,” Johnston grumbled.  “He may not accept any charges at all.”

“Well,” Bob said, his mouth moving like he was chewing on his tongue or something.  “I did an immunity agreement like this several years back.  I got the attorneys to put in a clause that if we found out that he had lied about anything, and I mean anything, that it would void the agreement in its entirety.  The guy kept his end of the bargain, got us what we needed, and he was going to walk.  But then we found out that he’d lied about how many kilos of heroin we’d find in the safe house because he knew his girlfriend had stashed a couple.  Because he said there were 56 bricks instead of 58, we able to void the immunity and indict him with the rest of the scum.”

Jordan looked to Benson who still looked like he had a lemon tucked into his cheek.  His friend rubbed the fingers together of one hand, but didn’t say anything yet.

“I think that’s good enough,” Jordan said.  “I’m willing to give him the immunity just based on the possibility of saving lives.  If we can also have a way to potentially trip him up, that’s even better.”

“I agree,” Johnston said.  “I think we have to do this because we don’t have time to try to figure out if he’s as important as he says he is.”

Benson finally nodded his head.  “Okay.  I agree with you all.  The kids need to be our priority.  And we can keep tabs on Podvodnik if and when he leaves the area.  And hell, maybe we can catch him in a lie.”

“Alright,” Bob said.  “Get one of our lawyers and a USA down here to draft the agreement.  And tell him we’re not signing anything until we can vet at least one piece of information he claims to have.”

“We’ll need Flora for that,” Jordan said.  “She can verify if the other cities and companies he names are ones that she knows about.”

“Okay, Johnston, get the lawyers.  Remick and Sukatowski, go pick up Flora.  And if you have time, inform Carpinelli and Klein about what’s going on.  Not everything, just enough for them to be able to take the actions they need to in order to secure their company again.  I’m going to stay with Podvodnik and see if he’s arrogant enough to talk without signing anything.  I’ll check in with you all in a couple of hours.”

They all left the interview room and Jordan and Benson went down to the garage to get one of their cars.  Jordan frowned contemplatively the whole way to the car.

“Do you think Bob will ever get my name right?” he asked as he pulled open the passenger side door.

Benson smiled wryly.  “Honestly I think he’s just fucking with you at this point.”

Jordan narrowed his eyes and slid into the car.

~~~

Benson checked his watch as a way to disguise looking at Jordan as they rode the elevator up to Klein & Klein’s lobby.  He’d never met Arella before and he was very curious to see what kind of woman had Jordan all twisted up.  He was also curious to see if and how his demeanor changed while around her.  Jordan looked calm and collected, but when the elevator arrived on the 15th floor he drew up tighter than a piano wire.  Benson half-smirked to himself.  This was going to be awesome.

They walked into the lobby, much as they had done six weeks ago, and approached the front desk.  Behind the counter sat a very pretty girl with tawny colored skin.

“Agents!  You’re back.  Welcome to Klein & Klein.”

Benson was pretty sure the woman’s name was some version of Megan, but he couldn’t remember.  All he knew was that this couldn’t be Arella.  He glanced at Jordan and he seemed just as stunned to see the old receptionist.

“H-hi.  Do you know what happened to Arella?  Did she call in sick?”

Megan-something shrugged.  “The temp agency just called me this morning and asked me to fill in.”

“Oh.  Um.  What’s the name of the company?”

“Temporary Solutions.”

“Clever,” Benson said.

“Yeah.  What can I do for you?”

“We’d like to speak to John Carpinelli or Chris Klein.  Both, preferably.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”  Benson smiled.  “But we don’t need one.”

She gave him a tight smile and picked up the phone.  She spoke softly to someone named Dylan—one of Jordan’s chief tormentors if Benson recalled correctly—and Benson leaned sideways on the counter to look at Jordan.  He raised his eyebrows discreetly in the receptionist's direction in question.  Jordan just shrugged.  He didn’t know where Arella was or why she wasn’t in.

Megan-something hung up the phone.  “Chris and John are both available to meet with you.  You can go up to the twentieth floor.”

“Thank you,” Benson replied.

They walked to the internal elevator and made it to the top floor without running into anyone, which was a blessing since they didn’t have to explain Jordan to anyone.  The elevator doors opened and they were greeted by one of the personal assistants, Dylan, Benson assumed.  He led them to Chris’s office and knocked on the door.  Chris opened the door himself and smiled broadly as he shook hands with the agents.

“Please, come in.  I think I owe you both a debt of gratitude.”

They walked into the office and he led them toward the sitting area.  As they passed the desk, Benson nudged Jordan and pantomimed jacking off and raised his eyebrows.  Jordan repressed a smile and pointed to the middle left drawer—the one with all of Chris’s…items.

“So,” Chris turned toward them and they straightened up guiltily.  “Won’t you have a seat?  I heard on the news about the FBI arresting the people responsible for those fraudulent securities.  As unhappy as I am that it happened here at all, I’m a little relieved that it was a nationwide scandal and that we weren’t specifically targeted.”

“Yes, we were all grateful for such a fortuitous outcome,” Jordan said, unbuttoning his suit coat as he sat down on the couch.

Benson sat down in the chair separated from Chris’s by a round end table.

“Did you ever discover anything more regarding the suspicious activities with the money transfer program?” Chris asked.

“Or the charity?”

They all turned and watched John stride across the room.  He gave Chris a challenging look at having started the meeting without him, and Chris just gave him a nonchalant smirk in return.  Benson glanced at Jordan and he was giving him a little nod that he was pretty certain said, _Yeah, they’ll be fucking out this fight later_.  Benson raised his hand to cover his smile by pretending to cough.

“Excuse me,” Benson cleared his throat.  “We were able to uncover some illegal activities related to the money transfer program; that’s why we’re here today.”

“Does it have something to do with that charity?” John repeated, taking a seat next to Jordan on the couch.

Benson kept his laughter in check as he saw Jordan stiffen slightly as the man once again sat close enough that when he crossed his legs, his foot brushed Jordan’s shin.

“We’re not at liberty to discuss the charity at this time,” Benson said.  “What we can tell you is that Flora Vasquez is involved in a bigger scheme.  The program wasn’t skimming money from Klein & Klein; it was simply covertly transferring the individuals’ money to two separate bank accounts.”

“Except on occasion when the money from the investment returns was diverted before being reported to Klein & Klein,” Jordan said.  “Since you assess your fees based on a percentage of what is earned, there were a couple of times that your money was technically affected.  It will be up to you if you decide to pursue criminal charges.”

“Is there something larger going on than a few thousand dollars missing?” Chris asked.

“Yes,” Benson said.

“So, Vasquez would receive a harsher punishment if she is prosecuted for whatever else is going on.”

“That is correct,” Benson said, focusing on the word “if.”  Depending on what kind of deals got worked out, Flora might not receive more than a slap on the wrist, but “if” she was fully prosecuted, it would be more jail time than defrauding an investment firm.

Chris looked at John.  “Then I feel we should leave her to you to handle.  Though, I don’t want her working here any longer.”

“Of course not,” Jordan said.  “You can remove her from your security system and go back to the old way of managing your accounts and get rid of the program.  We’re actually here to pick her up today as well.”

“You’re not worried word got around that you’re here and she’ll bolt while you’re with us?” John asked.

“We’ve actually already spoken to her.  She’s waiting to hear from us on what happens next.  We’ll be taking her with us when we leave the building.”

“In hand cuffs?” Chris asked.  “I prefer if we didn’t have that kind of scene…”

“No, no.  No cuffs.”

“More’s the pity,” John murmured.

Jordan tsked and glanced at him.  Benson smiled and looked over at Chris.  He looked pretty angry.  Before Benson would have assumed it was because he was disgusted by the man’s unprofessionalism.  Now, he was pretty certain that it was jealousy.

“Well, we don’t want to take up too much of your time,” Benson continued.  “We just wanted to inform you about Flora Vasquez.  And to let you know that in the future some of your clients may be involved in an investigation, but that it has nothing to do with Klein & Klein.”

“Some of our clients?” John asked.  “How many?  Should we stop doing business with them?”

“At this time we don’t want to do anything that may alert them to an investigation.  However, we do intend to move on them within a short time span, and we will do our best to keep Klein & Klein’s involvement to a minimum.”

“I think I would prefer for these people to be gone immediately,” Chris said.

“I appreciate your concern, Mr. Klein, but we are asking for your patience and cooperation on this matter.”

Chris pursed his lips, glanced at John who gave a small shrug, and then gave Benson a curt nod.

“If you believe that is for the best, we’ll sit tight.”

“Thank you.”  Benson stood and Jordan quickly followed.  “We do need to collect Flora and be on our way.”

Chris and John stood as well.  They shook hands all around and Chris walked them to his office door and John escorted them to the elevators.

“I’ll be sure to tell Louis how pleased I am with Jordan’s work,” John said congenially.

Benson was a little confused by the wry look Jordan sent the man.

“If I ever have any trouble again I’ll know just who to call.  I’ll be happy to recommend you to any associates of mine who might have similar inconveniences.”

“Thanks,” Benson said, not sure what else to say.  It wasn’t like they were freelance contractors or anything.

“And Jordan, do call me if you ever need advice exploring your options.”

Jordan stiffened again and muttered, “S-sure.”

They stepped onto the elevator and Benson waited for the doors to close before he asked, “What was that about?”

“N-nothing.  He’s just talking about investing advice.”

Benson raised an eyebrow.

“Because I knew so little about the stuff that everyone knew I wasn’t here because I knew anything about stocks and bonds and securities?  It was a joke about how I pretty much sucked at being undercover.”

Jordan pulled on his collar.

“Mm-hmm.”  Benson let it slide.

They got off on the seventeenth floor and found Flora sitting in her cubicle too upset to play a game or do anything other than chew on a nail.  She jumped out of her chair when she saw them.

“W-what’s happening?  Did something go wrong?”

Benson shook his head.  “Not from our end.  Were you able to make the final transfer?”

She nodded.  “I did it yesterday.”

“Okay.  We’re going to take you in to the office again.  We’d like to know if there are any other companies in other cities that you or anyone else installed this program.”

Flora nodded and picked up her purse.  “There’s at least four others that aren’t on my CV.  Which is how I assume you found the other ones.”

Benson glanced at Jordan and he nodded back.  That was one confirmation that Podvodnik was telling them the truth.  They escorted Flora out of the building and a got a few looks from employees who immediately began whispering in their wake.  They deposited Flora into the backseat and Benson started to drive them to WFO.  Jordan pulled out his phone and started searching for something.

“What was the name of that temp agency?  Temporary Solutions?”

Benson nodded and carefully navigated a traffic circle.  Jordan put the phone to his ear, and spoke a moment later.

“Hello.  My name is Special Agent Jordan Szustakowski with the FBI.  I wanted to check on the status of one of your employees.  Ah, yes, certainly.”  He glanced at Benson.  “She’s getting a manager.”  Benson nodded.  “Hello.  Hi.  This is Agent Szustakowski with the FBI.  I was trying to locate someone that I believe might one of your employees.  You had her filling in at Klein & Klein as a receptionist for the past six weeks or so.  Her name is Arella Lewin.  Yes, I’ll wait.”  Jordan looked at nails.  “Yes, Arella, that’s corrected.  Yes, she worked at Klein & Klein, but she wasn’t there today.  Did she call in sick?  Unh-hunh.  I see.  Thank you for the information.  If she contacts you, can you give me a call?”

Jordan gave the manager his number at the Bureau and his cell phone number.  Then he hung up and looked concerned and thoughtful as he looked at the phone in his hands.

“What’s up?” Benson asked.

“She doesn’t work there anymore.  She quit yesterday.”

Benson smiled.  “Maybe when you disappeared it broke her heart and she had to run away.”

Jordan glanced in the review mirror, but Flora was biting her thumbnail and looking out the window, completely oblivious to their conversation.

“It’s just…the timing is not really a coincidence.”

“What do you mean?”

“She knew I was a federal agent.”

“What?!” Benson whipped his head to look at Jordan.

His partner pointed forward.  “Benson!”

Benson looked forward and had to slam on the brakes and very nearly plowed into a stopped Corolla.  Flora squeaked in the backseat.

“You okay?” he asked her.

“Y-yeah.”

“Sorry about that.”  He looked at Jordan.  “When did she find out?” he whisper-hissed.

“Just last night.  Or.  I only found out last night.  I get the feeling she knew for at least a week.  Or two.”

“When were you going to tell me?”

“Now?” Jordan asked sheepishly.  “When it happened last night it was late and I was a little stunned by her confession.  I was going to tell you this morning, but you said you wanted to work out and I hadn’t been to the gym properly in a while so I figured it could wait an hour.  And then Podvodnik came in and I just didn’t think about it again until now.”

“Shit, Jordan.  She could be in on this.  Podvodnik could have come in as a distraction and she’s off warning the traffickers.”

“Podvodnik came in?” Flora asked.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Jordan said, ignoring her.  “She came over last night to ask me if we had found anything about the last payment for the shipment she’d overheard Flora talking about.”

“Wait, Arella is who turned me in?”

“She knew about the shipment?” Benson asked.

“Wasn’t that part of the conversation?  It’s the information she supplied me.  I tried to pass it off like we were working on it but it wasn’t a big deal because it was just drugs.  She got really upset.  Not like she was worried her deal was going to be ruined, but like she knew it was human trafficking.  And she was not okay with it.”

“Do we know anything about her?” Benson asked.  “Do you think there are any fingerprints at your apartment?”

“Maybe.  But…I don’t know if she ever touched anything that would hold a print.”

“Too bad we can’t dust your dick for prints,” Benson muttered.

“You were sleeping with Arella?” Flora asked.

“Flora,” Benson and Jordan said together.

She shrank back into her seat.

“What are we going to do about it?” Jordan asked weakly.

“Well, fuck.  We’re going to have to tell Bob everything.  And I mean everything.  And let him make the call.  Whatever we decide about her, we have to proceed with Podvodnik as planned and hope that this doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

“I’m sorry I was so stupid,” Jordan said.

Benson shook his head.  “No…for some reason I have a feeling that whoever she is…she’s very good at what she does.”

“Podvodnik turned himself in?” Flora tried again.  “What are you going to do with me?”

“See if your stories match.”  Benson turned into WFO’s garage off of 3rd St.  “Flora, if Podvodnik claims to be ‘just the money guy,’ would you believe him?”

“I—I don’t know.  I mean, money is all he ever talked about with me.”

Benson nodded.  He wondered how the immunity agreement negotiations were going.

**Friday, August 15, 2015**

 

The immunity agreement negotiation had not gone well.  The lawyers had shown up by 9:00am, and they had still been hammering out details late into Friday morning after talking and talking all day yesterday and late into the night.  Podvodnik did not like the ‘you lie and it’s all void’ clause, which made Benson suspicious as hell of basically anything he told them.  Eventually though they had managed to convince him that without agreeing to their version of the immunity agreement they had enough to put him away for the rest of his natural life and felt confident in their abilities to find the children without him.  He’d signed and started giving up information.

They had 117 names in eleven cities, the financial director of The Lilac House, ten men and women who acted as money couriers in the other cities, a man named Phillip Long who was the money courier for DC, and because he didn’t know she was already working with them, Podvodnik threw Flora under the bus as well.  The squad was busy coordinating with other field offices to procure arrest warrants so that that they could make all the arrests on the same day.  They didn’t want word leaked so that people could bolt if they heard about the arrests in other cities.

They were planning the arrests for late Wednesday morning.  The shipment coming into the Port of Baltimore was scheduled for Wednesday at four o’clock in the morning.  It wasn’t completely unusual for dock work to begin that early, and it would be dark and secluded enough that the traffickers would be able to conduct their business unmolested.  They’d gotten in contact with the Baltimore Office and the SWAT teams in both offices were coordinating the hit.

Benson felt antsy about the whole thing.  Four and a half days was a long time.  It gave them time to plan and coordinate everything well, but it also left a lot of time for things to go very wrong.  The only comforting thing was that everything Podvodnik was giving them was checking out.

Bob had been rather calmer about Arella than he’d expected him to be, but he just told them to keep an eye out for her.  They had too much on their plate at the moment to devote any time or resources to her.  They would deal with her and Jordan after all of this was resolved.  For now, Bob hadn’t told anyone else.  Benson wondered if he was sitting on it because if everything went perfectly with the hit and arrests on Wednesday then there might not be a need to tell anyone at all.  More than likely Jordan would get in a shit-ton of trouble for sleeping with someone while undercover.  He appreciated Bob protecting him, but part of him worried that this woman was out there and knew too much about the case.  Jordan seemed to trust her—or at least believe that she wasn’t one of the bad guys—so he was going to rely on his trust in Jordan.

“Hey, Benson.”

“What’s up?” he asked, turning around to face Jordan.

Jordan pointed at his computer monitor with a pen.  “So, you know how Podvodnik provided us with a coded list for the types of slaves they’re bringing in?  A spoon for a chef, certain flowers for male and female sex slaves and their virgin status and whatnot.”

Benson nodded.

“I think I know how they were advertising the new merchandise, or taking requests for what people wanted.  John told me he went to one of The Lilac House’s charity balls once.  He said the silent auction was really weird because the items being offered were like Moroccan Spoon or Romani Lily.  He thought the items were crappy because it was all about giving money to the charity, but for the people in the know…that’s how they ordered or asked for someone who was good at cooking.  Or if they wanted a female sex slave under twelve or whatever else was being offered.”

Benson made a face.  “That’s disgusting.  A literal modern day fucking slave auction.”

“Makes you wonder how the other cities did it then.  Did they all fly in for the annual gala for The Lilac House?  Or are there other charities?”

“You know, he never did indicate what he was using to launder the money through in the other cities.  Son of a bitch, why didn’t we pay attention to that?”

“I think we can shake him and make him give it up.  We’ll just say he’ll be lying to us about the laundering thing by implying it was only the banks which will void his contract.”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

Jordan put out a hand.  “He’s being held here until Wednesday, right?  Let’s go have a chat.”

“Okay.”

Benson turned around to lock his computers and his desk phone rang.  He held out a finger as he stood up.  “Hang on, let me get this.  Hello?  This is Remick.”

“Agent Remick.  This is the deputy warden at Locust Grove State Prison.”

Benson made a face.  That was where Russ was being held.  He wished he was being held in Red Onion or Wallens Ridge—supermax prisons—but Locust Grove was the most secure prison that was a reasonable distance from Arlington, where he would be prosecuted and face trial.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“It’s Little.  He’s been erratic and disruptive all week.  We put him in solitary but he’s been scratching the walls until his nails bled and singing and talking to the guards—it’s unnerving everybody.  When you didn’t show up for your appointment today—he flipped his shit.  Look, I know it’s our responsibility to handle our prisoners, but he’s freaking everybody out.  No one wants to go near him and legally we can’t just leave him in solitary with no food.  He’s demanding to see you.”

“Let him starve, Warden.”

“Agent Remick, please.  Can you just come talk to him?  If you tell him in person he might calm down.  He keeps claiming that you disappeared.  He thinks that you were kidnapped and murdered.  He keeps saying that one of his people got you when he told them not to.”

Benson clenched the phone.  Holy shit.  Was that even a possibility?  Would one of Russ’ disciples take it upon him or herself to take revenge on him for putting away their Messiah?

“We told him you’re fine and that you’re working a case in DC.  But he’s insisting on seeing you.”  The man swallowed loudly enough to be heard over the phone.  “Agent, I realize this call is shameful.  I’m embarrassed that I’ve lost control of an inmate and all my officers—but, I hope that impresses upon you exactly how desperate we are to be asking you this.”

Benson nodded slowly, trying to calm his pounding heart.

“Okay.  I’ll come.  It’ll take me about an hour to get there.”

“We’ll tell him two so he doesn’t freak out worse if you’re late.”

“Okay.  I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“What’s up?” Jordan asked after he had hung up.

Benson stood up and donned his suit jacket.  “Russ,” he said bitterly.

“Son of a bitch,” Jordan muttered.  “Are you going to see him?  Don’t.  Don’t give him what he wants.”

“I wish it was that simple.  Apparently he’s scaring the shit out of everyone who works at the prison.  Look, you go to talk to Podvodnik about how he’s laundering money in other cities.  Take Ainsley with you.  And I’ll go deal with that buttwart.”

Jordan snorted.  “Tell him ‘fuck you’ from me.”

“Will do.”

 

Benson shook out his hands as he waited for the guard to come get him.  He’d tried to get a hold of Oska to let him know where he was going, but he hadn’t answered his calls or texts.  Then he had remembered that today was final exams for the NAT’s.  He’d be busy all day and wouldn’t be allowed to have access to his phone for most of it.  He knew getting a text about the meeting wouldn’t make him happy, so he figured he would text him when he was done and let him know that he had gone to the prison and everything was okay.

Fuck, who was he kidding?  Everything was not okay.  He’d broken down like a baby last Saturday and ruined their night together.  Oska had comforted him and held him all night.  That hadn’t sucked, but he’d been too overwrought to make love to Oska properly, so all they got that weekend was a half-assed frottage session.  He had felt better on Sunday—he’d felt a little silly for his breakdown—but Oska had been there for him and supported him.  He’d spent all week like he was over everything that had had happened in Green Falls and that he didn’t need to be involved with Russ outside of the Angel Slayer trial.

He’d talked with Bob and the police detectives he’d been working with locally and around the country.  Everyone had agreed that it was okay that he step back.  The Lubbock police were going to give pictures of the trophies found in the Elton bunker to the victims’ families to look over.  If they recognized anything, then that might be all the proof they needed to pin the Lady Killer murders on Russ.  Or at the very least to let those families know that the monster responsible for their unresolved nightmare was behind bars and never getting out.

It seemed like the only one who wasn’t okay with Benson stepping back was Russ, but his opinion didn’t count for shit.  Although apparently he could creep out a dozen grown men into giving into his demands just to get him to stop.

The door to the holding room opened and a guard Benson recognized from his previous visits motioned him to follow him.  He was a big, beefy guy; someone he felt more or less safe with as he was being led to the craziest fuck the Locust Grove Prison had ever had the misfortune of incarcerating.  He opened the door to the interview room and Russ was already sitting at the table.  He smiled when he saw Benson.  There was no one else in the room, and Benson stopped cold.

“Where is the guard?” he asked.

“It’s me,” the man said, his deep voice a comforting rumble behind him.  “No one else wanted to be in the room with him.”

“Fantastic.”

They both entered the room and Benson saw through the glass of the interior door that three guards were watching what was going on from the safety of their office.  Benson crossed to the table, but didn’t sit down.  He gripped the back of the chair and his knuckles turned white.  Russ had his hands folded on top of the table.  Benson could see that he’d done more than scratch his nails bloody; the tips of his fingers were shredded as well.

“Hello, Benson.”

“Russ.  I heard you’ve been throwing quite the temper tantrum.”

“I was worried about you.”

“As you can see, there was no need.”

“Hmm.”

Russ’ eyes roamed over him.  Benson felt sick.

“Do you have people out there stalking me?  Did you put a hit out on me?”

“Benson!  No, of course not.  I love you.”

Benson flinched.  In all his insane ramblings, he’d never actually said those words.  Not like that anyway.

“I made it clear you’re not to be touched.  That’s why I got so worried when you disappeared on Saturday.”

“Why?  Were there other people in Green Falls?”

“No, just those two.  Why didn’t you fly back with me?”

“I didn’t want to.  I was done.  I am done.  We caught the Green Falls Killers and there was no reason for me to try to keep you happy anymore.  I had work to do.  I’m working a huge case right now—we’re swamped with getting warrants and making arrangements for an upcoming hit.  I didn’t have time to bother with you this week.”

Russ’ hands tightened and he frowned a little.  “I understand that.  But today is our day.  You missed our meeting.  No case is worth skipping our meetings.”

“Every case is worth skipping our meetings.  And you know what?  I meant it when I said I’m done.  I don’t care if you’re willing to tell me about a dozen killers in half a dozen cities killing twenty people every day.  I don’t care.  It’s not my problem anymore.”

“You don’t mean that,” Russ said.  “I know your heart.”

“You don’t!”  Benson stepped around the table.  “You don’t know me at all!  And we’re done indulging your whims.  I know you hate being here.  I know you’re bored.  And playing games with your captors is all you have left to you.”

“You think so?” Russ snarled, leaning forward.  “You think I don’t still have power?”

Benson slammed his hands on the table and leaned down to look him in the eyes.  “No, Russ.  You don’t.  Not even your own disciples respect you anymore.  They’re not contacting you, they’re carrying on without you.  They realized that you’re no Messiah.  You wouldn’t have gotten caught otherwise.  They see you for what you are now, Russ.  A sad little king on his pretend throne.  You’re just a man.  And there’s nothing extraordinary about you except your level of depravity.

“You’re nothing, Russ,” Benson hissed leaning in closer.  “And you don’t even realize that’s all you’ve ever been.  Empty.  Meaningless.”

Russ’ eye glittered dangerously with cold hatred.  Benson smiled to see it.

“You’re going to jail, Russ,” he said quietly.  “You’re going to solitary for life.  And you can scream your throat raw and beat your hands into nubs, but no one is ever going to care.  You’re going to go mad.  And I don’t even care enough to want to see it happen.”

There was a long moment as the air around them crackled with rage and anger and disgust and loathing, and everything Benson felt for the psychopath was finally mutual.

And then Russ lunged forward.  He had just enough give in his chains that he was able to reach Benson’s throat—because he’d been stupid enough to get that close to him.  Benson flinched back immediately, but Russ was still able to partially sink his teeth into his flesh.  Russ’ sharp front teeth grazed over his skin and he let out a cry of pain and put a hand to his neck.  The guards were rushing into the room and holding Russ down onto his chair.  Benson pulled his hand back and was relieved to see no blood.  Then he felt something cool on his neck.  He touched the throbbing spot again and this time his hand came back with warm blood on it.

Russ started laughing maniacally.  “You’re mine now, Benson.  I’ve marked you.  You’ll always be mine.  Go ahead and stop coming to visit me.  I’m always with you now.”  He jerked against the chains and the guards and one of them pulled out his baton.  “You’re mine!” Russ screamed.

Benson shuddered and stepped back.  It sounded like when he’d screamed that he wanted to gut Oska back in Elton.  The tall guard handed him a handkerchief and then went to help the other guards get Russ unchained from the floor and back through the office toward his cell.  Benson put the folded cloth to his neck and pressed, feeling the sting of the bite.  He pulled the handkerchief back and on the stark white surface was a perfect bloody print of Russ’ teeth.

 

**Saturday, August 16, 2014**

 

 Oska took Charlie out for another walk.  He’d gotten home at ten in the morning, hoping to surprise Benson, but he’d been gone.  It was now after four and Oska was starting to worry.  He didn’t want to ruin the surprise, but he also thought it was weird that Benson would be gone all day on a Saturday.  Though if he had errands to run it wasn’t completely unusual.  He’d give him until dinner time and then try to track him down.

When Oska got back to the apartment, his key turned in the lock, but the mechanism didn’t move.  It must already be unlocked.  He could have sworn that he’d locked the door.  His hand went instinctually to his waist, but he didn’t carry a gun anymore.  And his fake gun that he was required to carry for class was back at his dorm.  He gripped Charlie’s leash tighter and opened the door slowly, scanning the room from outside before stepping in and looking around.

Benson darted out of the bedroom, his weapon drawn but not raised.  He sighed heavily when he spotted Oska and Charlie in the doorway.  He holstered his gun.

“Jesus, Oska.  I thought someone had broken in and dognapped Charlie!”

Oska’s laugh was a little giggly due to dissipating nerves.  He stepped inside and shut the door.

“Sorry,” he said as he unleashed Charlie.  “I have been here all day though.”

“Oh, all day?” Benson asked, sounding disappointed that he’d been away.  He crossed the room, patted Charlie on the head, and then kissed Oska.  Oska grabbed onto his arms, surprised by the intensity for a moment, then Benson pulled back, slowly letting Oska’s lower lip slide between his own.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” Oska replied.  “Where have you been all day?”

“At work,” he bemoaned, circling his arms around Oska’s waist and kissing his chin as he pulled him toward the bedroom.  “Please don’t take this to mean at all that I don’t want you here, but why are you here?  I didn’t know they were in the habit of giving out passes two weekends in a row.”  He kissed him again.

“Mm.  Well, it is the last weekend, so they were a little lenient.  Plus, my EAP counselor wrote a note saying I needed the break.”

Oska leaned forward and kissed him, running a hand down his chest, thumbing a nipple through his dress shirt.  Benson pulled back and stopped walking.

“Your EAP counselor?” he asked gently, running a hand through Oska’s hair.

Oska shrugged.  “I told you I’d ask for help.  So I did.”

Benson took his face in his hands and kissed him.  He whispered against his lips, “Thank you, Oz.  I know it probably wasn’t easy, but I’m so glad you asked.”  He pulled back again and cupped his jaw, letting his thumb play over Oska’s lower lip.  “I know you can take care of yourself.  I know you’re strong.  But, it’s kind of like watching you walk a tightrope.  I know you can do it, but it just feels so much better to know there’s a safety net below you now.”

Oska nodded and ducked his head, but Benson tilted his head back up.  “Don’t look away from me.”

Oska swallowed, a little overwhelmed by the intensity in Benson’s eyes.

“So-so y-you were at work?” he stammered like a fourteen year old his first date.

Benson smiled and leaned in, kissing his cheek.  “Mm.  We’ve got that takedown coming up on Wednesday.”

“Oh, right.”  Oska kissed Benson’s jaw and allowed himself to be pulled toward the bedroom again.  “Think you’ll be ready?”

“Mm-hmm.”  Benson moved his hands to Oska’s ass and pulled him in so that their groins rubbed together, sparking heat and lust through his veins.  “All good.  You pass your tests?”

“Won’t find out until Monday,” he moaned running his hands through Benson’s hair.  “But I feel really good about them.”

“What’s left for next week?” Benson asked around Oska’s earlobe, his hands on Oska’s fly.

“J-just—yes, Ben…briefing exercise.  Final PFT.  Th-then…graduation on Thursday.”

They came to an abrupt stop as they hit the bedroom doorjamb by accident.  It didn’t bother Oska though and he hiked a leg up around Benson’s waist and kissed him on the lips.  Benson took the opportunity to grind their lower halves together.  Oska pulled back and kissed Benson’s chin.

“You gonna come?”

“Well, I’m embarrassingly close right now.”

Oska chuckled.  “To my graduation.”

“Oh, yeah of course.”  He kissed Oska’s eyelid and Oska giggled under the light touch.  “Barring disaster on Wednesday.”

Oska pulled back with a frown.  “That’s not funny.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He kissed him and put Oska’s leg down on the ground so that they could start walking to the bed again.  Oska kissed a trail down Benson’s jaw to his neck and continued kissing down until his lips hit an odd texture.  He pulled back and found a gauze square held in place with medical tape.  Oska forgot his lust and placed three gentle fingers on the bandage.

“What happened here?”

Benson went rigid.  Absolutely stiff as a board.  He pulled away and actually took a couple steps away.  He put his hand on the wound and glanced up, but then dropped his eyes and looked at the floor.  It was guilty behavior.  But guilty of what?

“Benson?  What’s the matter?”

He shook his head, eyes staying down.  “It was just…I did something stupid.”

“What, did you try cooking?” he asked with a smile, taking a step forward.

Benson retreated and Oska stopped moving, his heart almost stopping as well.  Did Benson not want him?  Not trust him?  He stepped toward him again and Benson stayed put.  Oska gained confidence and walked close enough to touch him.  He picked gently at the tape and then peeled it carefully off his neck.  He gasped when he saw the bite mark, an angry red blemish, marring his beautiful neck.

“Benson…what happened?”

Benson let out a strangled laugh.  “Would you believe me if I said I was cheating on you?”

Oska felt waves of nausea washing over him.  What was so bad that he thought cheating would be better than the truth?  He put his fingers to the mark.

“Baby?  What happened?”

Benson struggled with not wanting to answer for a moment, but after looking in Oska’s eyes again, he relented.  “Russ was making trouble at the prison.  They asked me to come down to talk to him, to calm him down.  So, I went yesterday.  And I lost my temper and I got too close and…”

Benson’s meaning finally sank in.  Oska saw red.  Literally his vision was awash with a sickly red haze.

“Russ bit you?” he snarled, hands digging into Benson’s arm.

“Ow-owwww.  Yeah…”

Oska grabbed Benson by the wrist and dragged him out of the bedroom and then to the bathroom.  He pulled open the medicine cabinet and the door slammed against the wall.  He found the hydrogen peroxide mostly by feel because he still couldn’t really see that well.  He grabbed a wad of gauze from the package under the sink.  Then he dumped a quarter of the bottle of peroxide onto Benson’s neck, not caring about his clothes.  The liquid fizzed when it hit the wound and he dabbed at it with the gauze.

“Oska.  I already thoroughly disinfected it yesterday.”

“Shut up,” he snapped.

He hadn’t meant to sound so mean, but even though he went quiet, Benson didn’t seem hurt or offended by his tone.  In fact, he seemed a little amused, which annoyed Oska on top of his aggravation.  He dumped more hydrogen peroxide and let it fizz a little longer, the white bubbles rising up almost like it was sucking poison out of Benson’s body.  He dabbed it clean with a wet gauze, and then dry with even more gauze.  He ran his fingers over the wound.

“Oska, you’re growling.”

“I’m fucking angry.”

“Hmm.”

Oska stared at the marks and felt his blood boil.  It wasn’t an expression.  He was pretty certain his blood was boiling and that’s where all the red steam in his eyes was coming from.  It was going to scar.  Russ’ mark was going to scar Benson and be on him forever.

“No,” he said and ducked down to look under the sink.

“I didn’t say anything,” Benson said.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Right.”

“Ah-ha!”  Oska stood up with a tube of Mederma.  It was medication that helped reduce scarring.  He unscrewed the lid and put some on his finger.

“Oz,” Benson said, catching his wrist.  “You’re not supposed to put that stuff on open wounds.”

“I won’t.”  He pulled his hand free and began to massage the cream into the skin around the teeth marks.  “Just the skin.  You have to use this stuff like four or five times a day.  That’s what it says on the packaging.  No one ever reads that part.  They just do it once.”  He put more cream on his finger and rubbed around the top teeth marks.  “Five times a day, Benson.  I’ll help too, but it’s most important in the beginning.  You have to make sure the skin doesn’t pull tight.  That is stays pliant.  That’s how it won’t scar.  You have to—”

“Oska, Oska, Oska!”  Benson grabbed his wrist.  “Hey.  I will, okay?”

“It can’t scar, Benson,” Oska said, his voice trembling.  “You can’t—he can’t—it can’t scar, Benson.  He can’t leave his mark on you.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do,” Oska said, trying to get at his neck again.

Benson held his arm firmly.  “Hey.  Yes, I absolutely do know.”  He put his free hand on Oska’s chest, over his heart—right where the brand that said “thief” marked his body.

“Oh.  Right.”

“Oh, right,” he mimicked gently.  “Now you know how I feel every time I see it.”

Oska relaxed a little and Benson released his arm.  He went back to massaging in more cream.  Benson repressed a sigh and met his eyes.  Oska nodded.

“I understand.  I’ll look into what it’ll take to get it removed.”

Benson leaned forward and pecked his lips.  “Thank you, dear.”

Oska strummed his fingers on Benson’s neck.  Then he made a face.  “No.  That’s like too 50’s sitcom-y.”

“And the search continues,” he said with a mock sigh of weariness.

Oska stroked his fingers lightly over the injury.

“Does it hurt?”

 “Nah.  Not too bad.  But maybe you could…”

Oska looked over and met his eyes.  He smiled and gave a quick raise of his eyebrows.  Oska leaned forward and placed a very gentle kiss on the unmarked skin in the center of the teeth.

“Better?”

“Mm.  Much.  Now.  How about you put a set of teeth marks on my ass?”

“Wha?”  Oska laughed.  “I—ah!”

He let out a shout as Benson picked him up and literally tossed him over his shoulder.  He backed carefully out of the bathroom and then carried him to the bedroom.  Oska landed on the mattress with a bounce and looked up at Benson.  He was already halfway out of his shirt.

“Come on, Oz.  Catch up.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.”  Oska pulled off his T-shirt.  “Hey, um, did you mean it?”

“Mean what?” Benson asked as he pushed his pants and boxers down in one go.

“Can I put bite marks on your ass?”

Benson grinned and slid onto the bed, covering Oska’s body with his and allowing his weight to settle on top of him.  Oska moaned softly and went completely lax, like he was drowning in Benson.  Benson kissed his jaw all the way to his ear.

“Put them anywhere and everywhere you like,” Benson whispered.

Oska shivered and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Careful,” he murmured.  “If you let me, I will.”

Benson covered his mouth with his and all semblance of conversation ceased.


	7. Week 7

**Tuesday, August 19, 2014**

Jordan thanked the SOS who had printed out the large scale versions of the maps she had made of the Port of Baltimore.  He rolled them up and then hurried back to their squad area.  The whole place was bustling with CR-2 agents and analysts as well as the agents from SWAT and Crimes Against Children who would be assisting them for the big takedown.  Since there were so many arrests to make, they had canvassed the office for help and also had agents from other criminal squads as well from the counterintelligence and counterterrorism units.  The ratio of counterintelligence agents was greater than the other divisions.  Those guys rarely got to make arrests, so an event like this was a great opportunity.

Coordinating the arrests across the country had created some serious logistical headaches as they’d had to teleconference with people all day on Monday to get all the kinks worked out.  The ship was docking at four in the morning on Wednesday.  After it was secured to the slip, a SWAT team and a few other agents would board the ship, arrest the crew, and hopefully find any victims alive and well.  Then at 5:00am, they would get the money guy.

Podvodnik told them even though the boat came in at four, the money wasn’t brought over until at least an hour later.  The crew needed time to secure the ship and get the cargo covertly off the boat and to a waiting truck that would take them to wherever the holding site was.  The crew would contact Podvodnik when they were ready and could tell him how many victims needed to be paid for (in case some died on the journey).  Then Podvodnik would call the money guy and he would withdraw that amount from the Potomac First ATM using a special code that allowed him to withdraw a large amount of money at one time.  They had surveillance on the bank and knew the name and face of the money guy.  As soon as he showed up and made a withdrawal, they would be able to arrest him.  In order to not arouse suspicions, Podvodnik wouldn’t call him until around 5:00am.  They expected to have the arrest completed by no later than 6:00am.

 Arrests of the clients would begin at 6:30am EST, which would mean some arrests happened as early as 3:30am PST.  That meant agents across the country would be up very early preparing for their hits, but it would probably help since the subjects were all likely to be in their homes at that time of night rather than at work.  That leg should be completed by 7:30am EST—really, 7:00am, but they didn’t want anyone getting antsy due to deadlines.  Finally, at 8:00am, social workers and CPS agents would enter the homes and take any victims they found (as well as the subjects’ own children) into protective custody.

 Operation Scampering Librarians should be completed by no later than ten o’clock east coast time on Wednesday morning.  From there the day would be devoted to processing the subjects, taking care of the victims, and tracking down those subjects who had not been in their homes.  One couple from Chicago they knew was in Canada, but they decided it wouldn’t matter if they heard about the arrests on the news and didn’t come back because they knew their friends to the north would extradite them.  They’d already put in a call to the Canadian authorities asking them to deny the couple exit of the country to anywhere other than their home airport.

 Jordan carried the maps over to the two desks that had been cleared off to form a makeshift operations table.  He unrolled the largest print out of the Port of Baltimore, and he and a few others verified that the points labeled on the map were correct.  Smaller versions were handed out to all the SWAT team members and the agents that would actually be entering the port, the slip, and finally the cargo boat.  The Baltimore agents and SWAT team were in constant communication and verified that they had received electronic copies of the maps.

It was three in the afternoon and everything had been finalized and reviewed three or more times by five or more people.  Management was giving them a thumbs up and the lawyers had come through with the arrest warrants and the search warrant for any vessel docking at slip 112 in the port.  They were all being encouraged to go home and get some sleep so that they would be awake for the very early morning operation.  Jordan didn’t know how anybody would be able to sleep though.  Besides, neither he nor Benson were leaving until Podvodnik got the call from the traffickers.  They checked in one last time to make sure everything was good to go and that the money had been collected for the payment.

Jordan looked over his shoulder and saw Benson scrolling through all the records they had on Potomac First, Podvodnik, Executive Management, Inc., and The Lilac House.  Once the plan had solidified and Benson had done his part to be prepared and sign off on it, he’d sat down at his desk and not moved for hours.  He was looking for any information that might be a clue to any properties that could be used to store the children.  He didn’t trust the traffickers to be cooperative, and he didn’t like just waiting around for information when he knew there was a group of children being held captive somewhere, possibly starving to death.

Jordan thought that Benson probably also wanted something mindless to do to keep his brain preoccupied.  He’d notice the bandage on Benson’s neck on Monday and it had taken most of the day to pull the story out of him.  Jordan had felt an odd sensation—like a staticky heat in his limbs when he’d found out that Russ had frickin’ bit him.  The feeling had made him restless and he’d fantasized most of the rest of the day of going down to the jail and for some reason or other was totally justified in killing Russ: shooting him, stabbing him, bashing his head in repeatedly with a chair.  During the fantasies the static subsided, but then came back when he realized he hadn’t actually hurt Russ.  He rather imagined that the sensation must be like what sociopaths felt when they had the urge to murder.  It was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched and could only be soothed by killing someone.  Violently.  The feeling had mostly dissipated overnight and he’d been so busy today that he hadn’t had time to think about it.  He supposed that’s what separated him from the psychopaths though.

Jordan walked to Benson and put a hand on the back of his chair.  Benson stopped scrolling and tilted his head back to look at him.

“Hey.”

 “Hey.  Find anything?”

 Benson shook his head.  “Nothing worth wasting resources on.  I called a couple places and when I asked if they were secretly storing child slaves there, shockingly they said no.”

 “I’m sure we’ll be able to get the information tomorrow morning.  And as far as they know, everything is still on course and there are no warning flags.  More than likely whomever they pay to keep the kids alive usually is probably still doing their job.”

 Benson gnawed on his lower lip.  “Yeah…I just have this…weird feeling about the whole thing.”

 “It’s probably just anticipation.  Nerves.  Even excitement.  My stomach has felt a little sloshy all day.  I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get to sleep at all before we have to be back here.  I’m thinking of just staying until go time and maybe snatching a nap on a cot if I can.”

“Yeah…I may consider staying here as well.  But there won’t be enough cots for everyone if we all stay.”

 “Benson, Jordan!”

They looked over to where Bob was beckoning them from the hallway.  Jordan waited for Benson to lock his computers, and they walked over to Bob together.

 “Podvodnik says that he should be getting the call within the next fifteen to twenty minutes.  Why don’t you two head on down and I’ll be there in a minute.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Jordan nodded to Bob and was a little surprised to hear Benson answer Bob with absolutely no attitude.  He must be hyper focused.  They went to the elevators and made their way down to the first floor interview room where Podvodnik was spending most of his days.  Over the weekend he had been kept in a hotel with a guard that had stayed in the room with him at all times and monitored his communications.  He’d only called his wife to let her know that he was out of town on business.

 The FBI Policeman who was guarding the interview room door nodded to them and let them inside.  Podvodnik was sipping from a Starbucks to-go cup and looking uncomfortable and irritated.  Jordan hoped they’d gotten his coffee order wrong.

 They didn’t greet him and he didn’t offer up a hello.  Jordan squeezed his legs under the table and he and Benson sat across from Podvodnik, staring at him.  They sat for seven minutes in silence, and then Bob joined them.  He took the last free chair and put it on the side of the table.  Surprisingly, Bob had nothing to say either.  They waited another eleven minutes, and then Podvodnik’s cell phone rang.  It was a burner phone that he had bought at the beginning of the month and shared the number with the traffickers.  They all got new burners every month.

 As the man pulled the phone out of his coat pocket Bob said, “On speaker,” and tapped the table.

 Podvodnik rolled his eyes slightly but set the phone to speaker mode when he answered and then laid it flat on the table.

 “I’m here.”

 “Are the lights on?”  The voice was soft and slightly accented like Podvodnik’s.

 “Yes, all of them, with no flickering.”

 “We’ll call to check on the lights again tomorrow morning.”

 The call ended.  Podvodnik put out his hands.  “There.  It is done.”

 “How do you know if he’s on schedule?” Benson asked.

 “He would have told me that it was raining if they were behind schedule.  And that it was snowing if they were ahead of schedule.”

 “So.  They’ll be at the port tomorrow at 4:00am,” Bob wanted one last confirmation.

 “Yes.  As far as I know—they have a shipment and they’re on time.”

 “I assume you’ll use some sort of similar code when you call the money guy.”

 “Yes.  I’ll tell him the lights are on and we need however many backup bulbs.  The number of bulbs represents how many individuals are in the shipment so that he knows how much money to withdraw.  May I return to my hotel room until I need to make that call?”

 “No,” Bob said.  “You’re staying here until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.  I want someone to hear every phone call you make with that phone.”

 Podvodnik huffed.  "I will only use it twice more.  Once when they call in, which is not until after four this morning, and then one outgoing call sometime after five.  I’m not needed here.”

 “No, you’re not needed, but you’re going to stay.”

 “There is no point in me trying to cover your eyes with wool.  It would void my immunity agreement.”

 “You’re still staying here.  Remick, Zutawafski, a word in the hall please.”

 Jordan and Benson got up and followed Bob into the hall.  He closed the door, but left it cracked so that they’d be able to hear if Podvodnik started talking.

 “Okay.  You two can head back upstairs and do whatever you need to do to feel prepared.  They’re setting up cots on the fifth floor and I recommend that you two use them for at least a couple hours before you leave for Baltimore.  Preferably longer.”

 They both nodded.

 “Alright, get out of here.  I’ve got a babysitting gig to tend to.”

 Benson started to leave, but Jordan hesitated.  “Sir?”

 Bob turned back.

 “How come you can pronounce Podvodnik, but not Szustakowski?”

 Bob shrugged.  He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the door and said, “He corrected me.”  Then he stepped back inside and shut the door.  Jordan turned a frown onto Benson.  He just shrugged.

 “Just because he’s your SSA doesn’t mean you can’t speak up.”

 “Thanks for telling me sooner.”

 “I thought you knew.”

 “Why would I know that?”

 “Don’t get upset.”

 “I’m not upset.”

 “I think you need a nap.”

 “Benson, I will punch you in the balls.”

 Benson just laughed.  “Fine, don’t take a nap.  But that’s where I’m going.”

 Jordan grumbled but followed Benson when he returned to the squad area to inform everyone that he was heading down to the fifth floor.  Some people had already headed that way and most others were going to wait a couple more hours.  Jordan followed Benson to the fifth floor and they found a couple of cots near each other in a corner.  Jordan’s feet stuck off the end, but it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as he’d been expecting.  He stared at the ceiling, wide awake.  He turned onto his side to talk to Benson, but he had his phone to his ear and a soft smile on his face.  Jordan relaxed against the thin pillow and resigned himself to counting the lined pattern in the carpet squares.

 He was asleep in thirty seconds.

~~~

 “Hey, puddin’,” Benson said and smiled when Oska laughed.

 “Okay, I think you already know my stance on this one, but go ahead and use it this week.  I could use a little humor in my life.”

 “Okay, puddin’.  So, did you find out about your finals?”

 "Aced ‘em.”

“Congratulations.”

 “Thanks.”

 “What’s left?”

 “Well, today and tomorrow are the briefing exercise and the PFT.  Half of us did one and half the other, and then we’re switching.  I had my briefing today and I received very good feedback.”

 “You definitely are good at explaining yourself.  Even with a cock down your throat.”

 Oska snorted.  And then whined.  “Damn.  Now I want your cock down my throat.  And you know?  I was never this horny before I met you.  I’d calmed down.  I was a man in my mid-thirties.  Well past my supposed sexual prime.  And now I can’t go more than, like, half an hour without thinking about doing something truly unholy to you.”

 Benson laughed softly and glanced at Jordan.  He was snoring softly and drooling on the cot.

 “Well, does knowing that you’re not alone in that make you feel better?”

 “A little.”

 Benson settled down more snuggly into the cot.  “So, PFT tomorrow?”

 “Yep.  And it’s a good thing too.  I’ll be able to concentrate on the physical exertion and hopefully that will keep my mind off of you.  I know you’ll be busy, but please text me or something as soon as everything is over and you’re safe.”

 “I will.  Try.  I promise I’ll try.”

 Oska sighed.  “I guess that’s good enough.”

 Benson wanted to distract Oska so he said, “Are you sure you shouldn’t be more worried about your PFT?  You’re gonna be in an even older man tomorrow.”

 “Blow me, Remick.  I run a faster mile than you.”

 Benson frowned.  “I bench press more than you.”

 “You only started doing that so that you can pick me up.”

 “Worth it though, right?”

 Oska chuckled.  “You bet your sweet ass it is.  So, what are you doing now?”

 “Some of us are hunkering down for a bit, trying to get some sleep since we’ll need to be up at midnight.  Ready to roll by one, meeting at the staging area by two, and set up in position at the port by three.”

 “Sounds like it’s going to be a long night.”

 “Not so bad.  Just four hours.  Four and a little bit and it’ll all be over.”

 “I hope so.  Well, I’ll let you go get some sleep.  Be careful.  I love you.”

 “Love you too.”

 Benson let Oska disconnect the call, and then he twisted to settle a little bit on his side.  Jordan was still completely out.  Like a light.  Benson closed his eyes and dreamed of running through a corridor with light bulbs that exploded when they were turned on.

 

**Wednesday, August 20, 2014**

 

  Benson was in the mobile command post, which was parked several blocks away from the main entrance to the Port of Baltimore.  He had just finished looking over the map with the Baltimore lead agent as they had radioed to all of their teams to make sure everyone was ready and in position.  It was 3:30am and they’d received word from the port authority that a small cargo ship had been cleared for passage up the bay and was heading for the port with an ETA of 4:04am.

 The Baltimore agent’s name was Connors and he was mostly interested in being seen as the guy who had pulled off the operation of the century.  Benson was more than happy to let him feel in charge if it kept him out of his way.  He stood up and slipped past Connors where he was hunched over the maps and probably annoying the shit out of his guys as he radioed them for the fifth time.  The monitors in the large Winnebago-esque command post were along the backside and Benson moved to stand behind the tech who was monitoring the slip, the dock from three angles, and the waterway that led into the port from the bay.

 “Have we got eyes on the boat yet?” Benson asked the tech.

 “Not on camera yet.  There’s a bend in the entrance.  As soon as the ship clears that, we should have a visual on it for the last ten minutes it takes to get here.”

 “Great.  Let me know when you get eyes on it.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 Despite feeling restless, Benson forced himself to sit down.  He didn’t want to be like Connors and constantly pestering his teams.  He trusted them and knew they were ready.  Waiting was always a part of the game.  His Bureau phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket.  He smiled when he saw it was from Oska, and then looked up to see if Connors was looking at him.  He wasn’t.  So he checked the message.  After all, it looked like he was officially working.

  **Good morning, babe.  I don’t want to distract you, but I wanted you to know that I’m thinking of you.**

  _What are you doing up so early?_

  **Told you.  Just wanted to wish you luck.**

  _You have a PFT starting at 8  Get some rest_

**Can’t sleep.  Worried.**

_Don’t be  Everything is under control  I’m not even netering the slip  Safe and sounf in the CP_

**I’ll let you go.  I don’t want to be a bother.**

_You’re no bother  we’re waiting on the ship  and oh yeah! Happy birthday sweetheart_

  **Thank you.  You already used sweetheart.**

_Isn’t it on out shortlist?_

  **Yes, I suppose it is.  Thank you again.  Now concentrate on your work.**

_I am aiMA_

  **I know you’ll do your best.  It really is awful, isn’t it?  Those poor kids are probably kept in cages like animals.**

_Yeah  sick isn’t even the word for it_

**Text me again when you can. <3 U**

_Omg what areyou 12?_

**:)**

 Benson smiled and put his phone in his pocket.  He looked up at Connors; he was still hovering over the maps like he could jump inside it like a video game.

 Something made Benson pause and think about what Oska had said last.  He pulled out the phone and reread the last couple of replies.  He frowned and put the phone up.  That was nothing.  He pulled the phone out again and scrolled higher up.  Then he saw it.

_Those poor kids are probably kept in cages like animals._

 “Holy shit…” Benson whispered.

 He scrolled through his contacts until he found Ainsley’s phone number.  He should be working support back at the office as he’d volunteered for the overnight shift.  He’d kind of wanted to bring the kid along, but there were already too many moving pieces.  Ainsley picked up right away.

“Yo, Benson, what’s up?  Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is good so far.  I had a thought though…you said that Podvodnik donated money to an animal shelter that The Lilac House sponsored, right?”

"Yeah.”  It sounded like he was eating something chewy.  “For the Katrina dogs.”

“Didn’t you say that it was closed or empty?”

“They said after they adopted out the last Katrina dog that they decided not to run it as a normal shelter and just keep it on hand if there’s ever another similar disaster.”

“So…it’s a facility that is privately owned by them and is completely empty.  And has cages big enough to hold humans.”

There was a beat, and then the penny dropped.  “Holy shit!”

“My exact thoughts.  Find the address.  You might hear me talking, but I’m radioing Bob.  Stay on the line until I get back to you.”

 “Okay.”

 Benson grabbed his radio and pushed the button to talk.  “Charlie Papa to Lima 2.”

 “Lima 2 copies, over.”

 Bob was with the port authority in their offices, but he was on the same channel as all the teams so everyone heard the conversation.

 “Bob, Benson here.  I think I know where they’re holding the kids.”

 “What?  Where?”

 “The Lilac House owns a dog shelter that was sponsored by Podvodnik.  It’s been empty for a couple of years now.  But they completely own the property and it has running water and cages.  I doubt it’s near anything else because shelters are usually built away from populated areas because of the noise.  I’m having Ainsley look up the address now.”

 “Sounds like a decent lead.  We can look into it after the arrests are concluded.”

 “Bob, if those kids are there now…”

 “But you don’t know that they are, do you?”

 “It’s just a hunch.”

 “Lima 2, this is I-Team 4,” Jordan’s voice came over the radio.

 “Go ahead,” Bob said.

 “We don’t know that all the investigating we’ve done hasn’t somehow gotten back to the people involved in all this.  The kids could be abandoned.  They could be starving.”

 “I can hold down the fort,” Connors chimed in.

 Benson didn’t roll his eyes because even if Connors was only viewing him following a lead as a career opportunity for himself, he was making Benson’s case.  There was silence over the radio for long enough that Benson thought he’d won his case and then oscillated back to thinking Bob wouldn’t let him go.  Then the radio crackled.

 “I-Teams, are you set and prepared and able to report to Lima-2?”

 “I-Team 4 check,” Jordan said immediately.

 The other four teams checked in affirmative.

 “Charlie Papa, can you manage the Baltimore teams and the post solo?”

 “Copy, Lima 2,” Connors replied.  “The Baltimore teams are ready and I checked in with both SWAT teams.  Everyone is good to go.”

 “Alright, Benson.  I’m going to release you to follow this lead.  Contact Johnston back at the field office and make sure he knows where you’re going.  And don’t go alone.”

 “I-Team 4 to Lima 2, I can go with him,” Jordan said.

 “Negative, Team 4; we can’t break up teams at this time.  Benson, good luck.  We’ll try to keep you apprised of the situation as best we can.”

 “Copy Lima 2.  Thank you.”

 Benson put down the radio and put his phone back to his ear.

 “Ainsley, you still there?”

 “Yep.  I got the address.  It’s in Westphalia, Maryland.”

 “I have no idea where that is.”

 “It’s not too far from the New Carrollton metro station.  I’ll take the metro out there and you can pick me up at the station.  You can take the Baltimore-Washington Parkway most of the way.  Then I can give you directions from the metro station.”

 “Perfect.  How long should it take me to get there?”

 “Less than an hour.  Maybe forty-five?”

 “Okay, I should be there around 4:15 then.”

 Benson hung up and removed his blue coat with the large, yellow FBI printed on the back.  He wasn’t wearing any armor or a bullet proof vest because the command post was not going to interact with the suspects until after they were under arrest.  He patted the tech on the back as he passed and gave a smile to Connors.

 “Thanks for taking charge,” Benson said.

 “My pleasure.  Good luck, Remick.  I hope you find them.”

 “Thanks.”

 Benson stepped down out of the mobile command post and jogged to his vehicle.  He was on the road in seconds and drove nearly a hundred miles an hour all the way down the parkway.  At that time of the morning it was mostly empty and fortunately he didn’t have to stop and explain who he was and why he was driving like an asshole to the highway patrol.  He made it to the metro station in just over thirty minutes and actually beat Ainsley there by five.  When the analyst came out of the station exit, he hurried to Benson’s car and already had his phone set to give directions to the shelter.  Benson peeled out of the kiss and ride lot.

 “Fifteen minutes,” Ainsley said.

~~~

 “Fifteen minutes,” Connors said over the radio.

 Jordan copied the message and he and his partner, an agent named Aguirre from CT-1, moved slightly out from behind the cargo container they were stationed behind.  They watched the small cargo ship glide slowly into the slip.  The captain activated the reverse thrusters a few times to get the boat to slow down.  A couple of crew members began mooring the ship to the dock.

 It was almost 4:15.  The tech in the command post had informed them that something had slowed the boat down when it had entered the port.  It was possible it had been trying to avoid the other boat that passed by it, but there had been significant distance between them.  It may have also been waiting to verify that their assigned slip was open.  However, the port authority reported that they hadn’t been contacted by the ship past the initial permission to enter the port.  It had only idled for about four minutes, and then continued up the mouth and entered the port, maneuvering skillfully into the narrow slip.

 All the teams were holding at the ready, waiting for the command from Connors.  They wanted to make sure the ship was secured and get an idea of how many crew might be present rather than rushing in blindly.  Jordan watched as two more crew moved around the decks while the first two had put out a short gangway and were securing additional moorings down on the dock.  The captain came out of the glass-fronted cabin and called out a couple of orders.  They waited another five minutes; they saw no additional crewmembers than the five already spotted.  Every I-Team reported only seeing five.  Two of the crew members were opening the cargo bay while a third nodded to the captain and returned to the dock.  He began to walk toward the interior of the port.

 “This is Lima-2,” Bob said over the radio.  “Port authority indicates that most likely the subject is going to enlist a crane operator.  We should move in before he leaves the area and brings someone back.  Team 2, intercept the crew member on the dock.  WFO SWAT move in on the boat.  I-Teams 1 and 3 follow behind and provide back up.  Baltimore SWAT and Teams 4 and 5, hold your positions, but be at the ready to follow in if the advancing teams hit trouble.”

 Jordan watched the first team move onto the dock with weapons drawn.  They barked at the crew member to put his hands on his head and get down.  He looked startled and mostly confused and frightened as he obeyed the instructions.  The agents had him down and cuffed in under a minute.  SWAT moved swiftly past them as four other agents followed behind.  They shouted orders to the crew on the decks.  Everyone reacted like they were confused and scared.  No one tried to make a run for it and no one pulled a gun.

 SWAT boarded the boat first and cleared the cabin, the cargo hold, and below deck.  They verified there were only the five crewmembers present.  They also reported that the cargo hold was only half full and after forcing the lids off of half the boxes at random that they were filled with bags of sugar.  In order for SWAT to check the remaining boxes, Team 1 was called in to help the other two teams keep eyes and hands on the five crewmembers.  The captain, while still following orders, was belligerently demanding to know what was going on.  The leader for Team 2 showed him the warrant, but didn’t explain anything to him.  As the minutes wore on, it started to become uncomfortably obvious that there were no captives on the boat and the crew seemed to have no idea what was going on.

 Something made a clanging metal on metal sound behind him, and Jordan turned to look down the path that led to the humongous maze of cargo containers looming a hundred yards away.

 “Did you hear that?” Aguirre asked, looking in the same direction.

 “Yeah,” Jordan replied.

 “Damn.  I was hoping you were going to call me crazy.”

 “Something could have just fallen over.”

 “Yeah…let’s just move a bit in front of this crate so our backs aren’t completely exposed.

 “Okay.  It’s a little paranoid, but I’m kind of right there with you.”

 Jordan and Aguirre moved to stand in front of the crate, keeping their position, but giving them better eyes on the scene taking place on the dock while leaving them less antsy about the darkness behind them.  The sun wouldn’t rise until almost 6:30, so all the light they had was from a few industrial sized fixtures balancing precariously on tall wooden poles.  A few moments later the SWAT team leader came out of the cargo hold and shook his head.

 “Well, this was a bust,” Aguirre sighed.

 “Yeah…which is weird.  If Podvodnik is trying to give up everybody in order to get immunity, why would he give us bad information?”

 “Do you think he tipped them off?”

 “I don’t know.  Why would he?”

 “It can’t hurt him,” Aguirre said.  “I don’t think.  I mean, we’ve discovered nothing illegal here so far.  If this is completely legitimate, it’s not like we can charge him for being connected to not illegal things.”  Aguirre tilted his head.  “Can we?”

 “I-I don’t think so.”  Jordan looked at Aguirre and he just shrugged.

 Jordan wanted to radio Bob to find out what was going on, but he couldn’t clog up the channel just because he was curious.  His cell phone buzzed silently in his pocket and he pulled it out wondering if Benson was calling.  He was a little surprised to see it was Bob.

 “Hello?”

 “Jordan, s’Bob.  I called the field office and they talked to Podvodnik.  They’ve been with him for hours and he received no phone calls.  He said it was odd that he hadn’t received a call from the traffickers yet.  When we told him there was nothing on the boat, they said he got nervous.  He said they must have figured out that they were being set up.  Apparently he started asking for protective custody.”

 “I hope they told him to go fuck himself.”

 “I believe a similar sentiment was expressed to him.”

 “They haven’t released him yet, have they?”

 “No.  They still want him to make the call to the money guy.  Hopefully we can at least get him.”

 “Yeah.  And maybe Benson is having better luck than we are.”

~~~

“So do you think we’ll get in trouble for not having a warrant?” Ainsley asked as Benson checked the sturdiness of the box he had piled on top of the trash can against the tall chain link fence.

 “Exigent circumstances,” Benson said.  “Reasonable suspicion.  Blah blah.”

 “Well, as long as we’re respecting the law,” Ainsley said dryly.

 When they had arrived at the shelter, which was set at least two miles down a stretch of road that only had a farm equipment rental location along it, it had been apparent that it had not been in business for some time.  The doors were locked and chained shut.  The grass was overgrown and dry from many seasons of neglect.  The road and the lot in front of the building were paved, so it was impossible to tell if any cars or trucks had recently traveled on them.

They had pulled at the doors and peeked in the windows when they’d first arrived.  From what they could see there was a thick, undisturbed layer of dust settled over everything.  They had knocked and pounded on the glass windows and doors, but had heard no noises coming from within.  They’d walked around the side of the building and to the back.  There was a large exercise yard surrounded by a tall chain link fence.  By the gate a groove had been worn into the ground by repeated openings and closings, but it wasn’t possible tell if it had been opened recently.  There was a thick chain and padlock on the gate, which was why Benson had dragged a trash can to the sturdiest part of the fence next to the building wall and was trying to balance a crate on top of it.

 “Give me a hand?” Benson asked.

 Ainsley helped him keep his balance while he hopped up onto the trashcan and then wobbled his way onto the box.  He put his hands carefully onto the top of the fence and flung himself over.  He landed at the bottom of the ten foot drop with an “oof.”

 “You okay?” Ainsley asked.

 “Yeah.  Just landed a bit hard, but I didn’t twist anything.  Do you want to wait there?”

 “Hell no.”

 Ainsley backed up and took a running leap, using the wall to propel himself up high enough to grab the top of the fence and swing himself over.  He landed light as a cat on his feet.  Benson’s eyes were wide.

 “The hell was that?”

 “Parkour,” Ainsley shrugged.

 Benson shook his head and pulled out his phone to use the flashlight function.  Ainsley did the same and they found the back door locked tight.  They both peeked inside and could see a hallway that led to the front and another hallway that led to a room that appeared to be lined with cages.  Benson craned his neck to try and see inside any of the cages.  He waved the light around, but nothing moved within.  He called out through the glass, but he didn’t hear anything come from within.  He backed up and looked at the door, and then around the yard.

 “What are you thinking?” Ainsley asked.

 “I’m thinking about taking that stick over there and smashing in the glass on the door.”

 Ainsley looked back at the sizable limb that had fallen off one of the trees in the enclosure.  He looked back at Benson.

 “Do you think we can get away with something like that without a warrant?  Without seeing anything inside the building?”

 Benson was considering that very thing.  If they left now, no harm no foul.  But if he smashed in the doors of an animal shelter owned by a charity—that would not make for good press.  Undecided he walked back to the building and peeked in the window.  Everything still looked quiet and empty.  He started to pull back, and then he leaned forward, smooshing his face against the glass.  Down the hallway with the cages, there was one cage with something sticking out.  Something that hadn’t been there before.  He tried to concentrate on it but he couldn’t get his face any closer and it was just barely in his line of sight.  Then it moved.  Fingers.  Tiny fingers.

 Benson turned and ran for the tree limb.  It was a little long for him to be able to wield it gracefully, but the end that had broken off the trunk was at least half a foot around and solid as a brick.  Ainsley watched as he hauled it across the yard.

 “Benson?”

 “Stand back!”

 Ainsley ran out into the yard.  Benson grabbed the limb about mid-way down, and then swung it toward the door with all his might.  At the last moment he shut his eyes and turned his head.  The blow was enough to cause the glass to crack severely in the middle, splintering the glass to every frame like a delicate spider web.  He pulled back and swung harder, again shielding his eyes as best he could.  The glass broke and created a loud crash as it fell apart and exploded into the building.  He felt a few small shards of glass blow back in his direction, but nothing dangerously large nor was he cut.  He and Ainsley stepped carefully though the door, the broken glass crackling under their shoes.  Now they could hear the crying and the whimpering.

 Benson floundered his hands on the wall as they walked toward the cages, and just at the entrance to a large room, he found a light switch.  He flicked it on and both and he Ainsley flinched away from the light.  When their eyes adjusted they found a room with forty cages big enough to hold large breed dogs.  At least half of them had a child locked inside.  There was no blanket for them to sit on, only cold metal bars that were left open so that their waste could fall through to the tray below.  The whole room stank of urine and excrement.  There were two bowls in each cage.  Most were empty, but a few still held a drop or two of water.  There was no food.  No one had been to clean the cages or give them food or water in at least three or four days.

The children, both boys and girls and ranging in age from about sixteen to maybe five years old, all flinched away from them and huddled at the back of their cages.  All except one.  She was a pretty teenage girl, probably African, and it had been her fingers that Benson had seen.  She was at the front of the bars, asking for help in English.  Benson went to her first and looked at the latch.  All of them had padlocks.  He turned to Ainsley.

 “Call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance and to bring bolt cutters.”

 Ainsley immediately began making the call.  Benson turned back to the girl.

 “My name is Benson,” he said.

 “Andiswa,” she said, her voice strong and unbroken.  “Police?”

 Benson nodded.  “Police.”  He wiggled the padlock.  “Keys?”

 She stuck a thin hand through the bars and pointed to the far end of the hallway.  Benson ran down the hall and noticed some of the kids had started to approach the bars.  A couple started talking, but he didn’t recognize the languages.  The cages went all the way to the wall and were empty at this end.  He tried the handle on the door at the end.  It was unlocked and he flipped on the lights.  Inside was a storage room with a sink in the corner and shelves filled with canned vegetables, some bread, peanut butter, and a few other odds and ends.  There was also a board on one wall that was covered in hooks.  Hanging from each hook was a key with a numbered keychain.  He grabbed a metal bowl from the shelves and dumped all of the keys into it.  Back in the cage room, Ainsley was just getting off the phone.

 “They coming?” Benson asked.

 “On their way,” he confirmed.

 He held out the bowl to Ainsley.  “Start unlocking.”

 Ainsley grabbed a handful of keys and began looking at the numbers on the keychains and then the numbers on the cages.  Benson took the time to find the key that belonged to Andiswa’s cage.  He unlocked the padlock and helped her unfold her legs and step onto the floor.  She wore a scrap of cloth that hung off her thin shoulders and barely covered her.  She stepped forward and hugged him tightly, mumbling something in a language he didn’t understand.  He hugged her back for a moment, and then pushed her back gently.  He held out the bowl.

 “Help me?” he asked.

 She nodded and took a couple of keys.  They had all twenty-six children out of the cages within five minutes, and he led them to the storage room and helped them all get a glass of water.  He was certain he was hearing at least seven different languages.  One little girl sounded like she was speaking Russian, but he was fairly certain it wasn’t Russian but one of its derivatives.  A couple of boys were speaking either Farsi or Arabic.  There was more than one Asian language.  No one seemed to know any English at all except Andiswa, and her knowledge was extremely limited.  He tried to ask her if she knew who had brought her here, how many of them there were, how often they came, but she was struggling with understanding his questions.

 Ainsley managed to speak to one of the little girls in Mandarin, but she was very young and was mostly too confused and scared to understand what had happened to her.

 “She said something about her mother putting her on a train.  And then it being dark and wet and that it was ‘forever and forever.’  She said there were many men, but then there was just one.  A short man with a funny voice.  That’s all I got.”

 Benson turned to Andiswa.  “The man who put you in cages,” he started.  He indicated the room with the cages.  “The man who hurt you…”

 “Hurt,” Andiswa said, her eyes flashing angrily.  “Man.”  She held up a hand at about her height, which was barely to Benson’s shoulder.  “Old man.  Funny voice.”

 “A short, old man with a funny voice.”  Benson sighed.  “Could be Podvodnik.  Could be Danny Devito.”

 “Oh!  Hang on,” Ainsley said and pulled his phone out of his pocket.  He opened the web browser and began searching for something.  “There is a picture on The Lilac House’s website from the groundbreaking ceremony.  Podvodnik is in it.  Where was it…ah!  Here.”

 Ainsley handed the phone to Benson and he zoomed in on Podvodnik.  He showed the screen to Andiswa.  She jabbed her finger at Podvodnik’s face so forcefully Benson almost lost his hold on the phone.  She said something in another language and then managed to get out, “Yes!  Man!”

 A teenage boy standing close enough to see the screen also looked at Podvodnik’s image and then pointed at it and started talking too.  Well, it was more like hissing.  Benson looked at Ainsley.

 “He lied,” Benson said.  “He’s not just the money guy.  He knows exactly where these kids are.  In fact, I’d say he’s the one responsible for taking care of them and he abandoned them when he decided to turn himself in.  I guess he thought he could come back for them once he’d received immunity.  He may lose the shipment that just came in, but he thought he’d still have them.”

“So, their testimony will be enough to void his transaction, won’t it?”

“You bet it will.”  He turned back to Andiswa.  He pointed to Podvodnik and then at the ground.  “Man.  Here?”

 She nodded.  “Here.”  She said a word and pantomimed turning a steering wheel and repeated the word.

 “A vehicle.  He brought you in a vehicle.  From the boat?  Boat?”  He searched on Google for an image of a cargo ship and showed it to her.

She nodded.  “Boat.  Swim.  Ve-cul.  Here.”

“He picked them up at the docks and drove them here,” Benson said.  “I’m going to strangle him with my bare hands.  I can’t believe how close we came to letting this guy off.”

“Why did she say swim?” Ainsley asked.

He shrugged.  “I guess she doesn’t know the word for float.  A boat also ‘swims’ on the water.”  He glanced at the girl.  “Maybe.  Swim?” he asked.

She nodded.  “Boat.”  She held up her hands with her wrists close together like they were chained.  “Swim.”  She pretended to cough and sputter on water.  “Bad man,” she said.  “Mean man.”  She said a word in her language and then spit on the floor.

“Why would he make them swim?” Ainsley asked.

Benson thought for a moment.  “Maybe he unloaded them before the boat ever made it to the slip in case they were ever hit with a surprise inspection from the port authority.”

“So he chained them up and made them swim from the boat?  How far?  Did he drop them a mile off shore?  Or would they already be in the bay or the port?”

 “I don’t know.  Do you hear sirens?”

 Ainsley cocked his head.  “N—Yes!  Just faintly.  They should be here soon.”

 “Good.  Can you go out front and meet them?  I think you have the best shot at getting over the fence again.”

 Ainsley smiled wryly.  “Yes, but the white man has the best chance of not getting shot on sight.”

 Benson looked at him alarmed.  “Oh.  Should I go?”

 “Nah, it should be fine.  I think the ambulance beat the police here.  They don’t arm paramedics, do they?”

 “I don’t think so.”

 “I should be fine then.”

 Ainsley ran down the hall and ducked back through the broken door.  Andiswa watched him go and then looked back at Benson.

 “Help,” he said.

 She nodded and helped a little boy open a bag of bread.  He began eating it plain.  Benson pulled out his phone and called Jordan.  He knew it was probably a bad idea to disturb him during an operation, but it was almost five o’clock.  They should have made the arrests by now.  He also knew that Jordan wouldn’t answer if he couldn’t; he picked up on the second ring.

 “Hey, Benson.  Find anything?”

 “Twenty-six kids.”

 “Holy shit.  For real?”

 “Yes.  They were in cages.  Ainsley and I got them out and gave them some water.  The paramedics should be here shortly.”

 “Oh, that’s such fantastic news.  Especially since we got jack shit on our end.”

 “What do you mean?”

 “The operation was a bust.  There were no victims on the boat and there’s nothing to indicate there ever were.  The crew says they don’t know anything about it and have never heard of Podvodnik.”

 “Are there any other boats in the port?” Benson asked.  “Maybe he just gave us the wrong slip.  I know The Lilac House only owns one, but Podvodnik may own one himself.  The rat bastard lied to us.  The kids recognized a picture of him.  He’s the one who’s been keeping them here.”

 “Fuckhead.”

 “Yep.”

 “Man.  There was one other ship in the port, but it was leaving this morning.  It was a big one too.  Commercial.  I can’t imagine they were smuggling people on it.  It did make the boat we were watching stop.  But that’s all.”

 “Wait.  The boat in the Lilac slip, it stopped?  For a long time?  Where?”

 “Only a few minutes.  At the mouth of the port.  Then it came on.”

 “Did we have eyes on it?”

 “The command post did.  He said he just saw the bow of it enter and then slow down.”

 “So he couldn’t see the whole boat?”

 “I don’t know, actually.  What’s with the questions?  What are you thinking?”

 “One of the kids here said they made them swim.”

 “Swim?”

 “Yes.  She said in between the boat and the vehicle that brought them to the shelter, they had to swim.  You don’t think the boat stopped, dumped the kids overboard, and then came on?”

 “I wasn’t until now!”

 “Jordan…how long ago was it?”

 “The boat stopped just after four o’clock for about three to five minutes.”

 “If they did make the kids swim, where would they have gone?”

"Unless they made them swim all the way back to the bay, they would come out in the cargo field.  They’ve got hundreds, maybe thousands of those huge cargo containers stacked five high.  It would provide cover, but you’ve got to know where you’re going otherwise you’d get lost in there.”

“Well, if they’ve been doing this for years, I assume they know their way through.  Shit.  They’re probably out by now.”

“Not necessarily.  If they had to get a dozen or more kids swimming in the port and then out of the water and lead them through the cargo field it would take a while.  Plus the kids are probably gagged which means they can’t move fast if they can’t breathe.  We might be able to head them off at the front.  You take care of the kids.  I’m going to radio the port authority and ask them if they can get me directions to the most likely exit.”

 “Okay.  Jordan.  Be careful.”

 “I will.  I got this.”

~~~

“What’s going on?” Aguirre asked as soon as he hung up.

Jordan help up a finger and picked up the radio.  “Team 4 to Lima 2.”

“Go ahead 4.”

“I just got a call from Benson.  He found the kids at the shelter.”

“That’s fucking great news.”  Bob continued and Jordan had to suffer through his rambling because he couldn’t talk on the radio while it was active.  Finally he stopped talking and Jordan jumped on the channel before anyone else could.

“Listen to me, Bob.  Stay off the channel until I explain everything.  The kids identified Podvodnik.  He’s not the money guy—he’s running the whole operation.  The kids also said that they made them swim.  As in they were never taken off the boat at the slip.  They made them go overboard and swim to the shore.  We think there’s a possibility that the kids were off loaded while the boat stopped in the entrance when it first arrived.  They would be walking through the cargo field now.  Can the port authority tell me where the entrance is?”

Jordan let go of the radio call button and waited.  No one spoke.  He waited a minute, got antsy, and radioed Bob.  “Lima 2 are you there?”

"Yeah, 4, one moment.  They’re looking over a schematic now.”

A few moments later, someone spoke over the radio.  It wasn’t Bob so it was probably someone who worked at the port authority.

“Um…okay.  So…the entrance to the cargo field is over here toward the main network of buildings.  However, in looking over the map, if I was trying to smuggle a bunch of kids out of here, I wouldn’t take them that way.  There’s just way too many people about, even at this time of the morning.  Most of the field is bordered by water, but there’s a section on the south end that has an access road attached to it.  We use it when workers need to quickly get to the far end to look at a container over there.  It’d be a simple matter of cutting the outside fence to get a truck onto the access road, and then back out to a road that leads down to the highway.  We actually have had problems with needing to mend that fence from time to time.  We just thought it was street artists sneaking inside to tag the containers.”

“Alright, listen up,” Bob spoke again.  “Teams 1, 2, and 3, you’re going to stay with the suspects.  Keep them cuffed and under constant watch.  WFO and Baltimore SWAT teams, you’re going to take the east and west paths through the cargo field down to the southwest corner.  Teams 4 and 5, get your asses to a car and follow the main road out of here past the gate and then to the second left.  That’s the access road.  Follow it around to the corner of the cargo field.  We’re calling in help from the Maryland state police to put up road blocks on either side of the road and along the highway.  Copy, teams.”

Every team copied that they’d heard the instructions.

“Move out!”

Jordan and Aguirre took off running.  They met up with Team 5 at the point where the dock turned into street.  The closest car was Aguirre’s and they piled in, with Aguirre gunning the engine before everyone was completely in the car.  They almost missed the turn off, but Jordan spotted it.  They careened down the road, which was barely more than a path for a golf cart, at over sixty miles an hour.  Aguirre’s lights flashed on a dead end at a fence and a sharp turn.  He slammed on the brakes hard enough to activate the antilock brakes and the car screeched to a loud halt just before running off the end of the path and into the fence.  No one had put on a seatbelt and they all took a moment to heave in silent distress as they realized how easily they could have wound up going straight through the windshield.

 “You think they heard us coming?” one of the agents in the back whispered.

 The others groaned and hissed at him, but it got them moving.  They exited the car, weapons drawn, and approached the small break in cargo containers that gave access to the interior of the field.  Just as Jordan spotted the hole in the fence, a man in black clothing leapt out from behind a bush and made a dash for a truck that was just barely visible in the darkness outside the port’s bounds.

 “On ‘im!” one of the Team 5 agents shouted.

 She and her partner ran toward the break in the fence and tackled the driver just as he was about to get into the truck.  Jordan and Aguirre crept into the cargo field.  The metal walls rose up around them as high as a three story building.  It was quiet and nearly pitch dark as the lights from the port just barely spilled over the top of the highest containers.  Aguirre signaled that he was going down one row, and Jordan nodded and continued along the back wall.

 He walked as quietly as he could, the rubber of his tennis shoes absorbing most of the sounds of his tread.  He glanced behind him, and saw nothing.  He stopped for a moment and listened.  Wind blew through the containers creating creaking and moaning sounds.  He started moving again, jogging silently and quickly down to a break in the aisle.  He peeked his head around and pulled it back quickly.  There was no reaction.  He stuck his head around again and saw an empty row, though most of it was hidden in darkness and shadows.  His heart was pounding up near his throat, but he kept his cool and moved on.  The wind blew again and it made a sad whining sound.

 Jordan stopped and listened intently.  That hadn’t been the wind.  He heard it again.  Muffled crying.  Jordan pressed close to the containers on his left and crept forward slowly, the sound getting slightly louder until it abruptly stopped.  He reached the end of an aisle and poked his head around the corner.  He couldn’t see anything, so he listened.  He heard nothing.  He stepped around the corner instead of going straight.  It was possible that Aguirre would be coming up the other aisle by now and he’d run into him.  Jordan stepped into a thin sliver of moonlight.

 He registered the flash just before the sound of a gun firing ricocheted through the metal maze.  He ducked and turned toward the flash.  He saw the silhouette of a man aiming down on him from about twenty yards away.  Jordan’s back was against a container.  His options were to run side to side with no shelter or straight toward the gunman.  He moved to the left, the gunman followed easy.  A shot rang out.  Jordan flinched, but it was the gunman who fell.  Jordan straightened as he heard steps, assuming it was Aguirre coming from the other direction.

 The person who stepped out from behind the container was much too small to be Aguirre.  She moved forward enough that the glow from the lights bouncing off the top of the containers made her ponytail glow.

“Arella?”

 She looked away from the man she had shot—effectively saving Jordan’s life—and turned her back to the long stretch of corridor.  Jordan’s eyes caught the barest hint of black moving on black.

 “Behind you!”

 The gun went off and Arella cried out and collapsed.  Jordan ran forward and fired at the figure.  The second gunman went down.  Jordan crouched down by Arella’s side.

 “No, no, no,” he said as he checked her neck for a pulse.  He felt a steady heartbeat and she groaned and stirred.

 “It’s okay,” she gasped.  “Fine.  Went through my side.  Missed my liver.  Probably.  Hopefully.”  She tried a laugh and then winced in pain.

 “Hang on, I’ll get you help.”

 Jordan didn’t even care why she was there.  Didn’t even question it.  He fumbled his radio out of his pocket.

 “Team 4 to Charlie Papa.  We need medics in the southwest corner of the cargo field.  Someone’s been shot.  Repeat, shots have been fired; the traffickers are armed.”

 “Don’t bother with me,” Arella groaned, fighting against the pain that was trying to drag her under.  “The kids…I saw them…there’s three more.  That way.”

 “Arella, I can’t—”

 “Jordan, go!”

 Jordan stood up and ran down the corridor.  At the far end he saw two very small figures, child sized, hustle around the last corner that connected to the aisle that led to the gap and the hole in the fence.  Jordan took off at a sprint.  He got to the end just in time to be blinded by the lights on the WFO SWAT team’s guns.  The team yelled out commands for the gunmen to get down.  One tried to fire on the agents, one tried to run, and the third tried to use a little girl as a hostage but she bit him on the arm.  He was easily shot and the runner was tackled by a daring leap by a man from the top of a column of containers that was stacked only two high.  The one who had opened fire was already on the ground with seven or eight bullets in him.  The Baltimore SWAT team came in from the other direction.  Everyone quickly secured the area and ascertained that there were no more suspects.

 Thirteen children were tied together with a coarse rope around their wrists.  Some were crying, but most were trying to talk, flailing their arms wildly, and subsequently jerking around the arms of the other children tied to them.  Jordan couldn’t understand what language they were speaking.  None of them appeared to be wounded, though they were wet from their swim in the port.

 “Where’s Aguirre?” someone asked.  “Was he the one shot?”

 “No, it was—”

 “Who the hell is this guy?”

 Everyone looked and realized that the man who had jumped from the containers and detained the third gunman was definitely not FBI.  He’d tied the gunman up, and also put down two guns and a large knife on the ground.  He dropped to his knees and put his hands behind his head.  Half the agents raised their weapons, but no one fired.

“Who are you?” The Baltimore team lead shouted.

“I’ll not talk until you’ve contacted the Israeli Embassy.”

“The Israeli Embassy?” someone repeated, utterly confused.

The sound of sirens could be heard faintly in the background, getting closer.  Jordan ran back down the aisle to Arella.  He knelt by her side and saw her trying to staunch the bleeding with her tank top.  Jordan removed his bulletproof vest and then his T-shirt.  He used it to stop the blood flow on her back.

“It looks like the bullet went clean through,” Jordan said.  “That’s good.  You’ll be okay.  The ambulance is here.”

“The kids?” she asked, voice strained with pain.

“All safe.  The suspects are apprehended or dead.”

“Good.”

Jordan kept pressure on the wound and struggled with what to say next.  Finally he just asked what he really wanted to know.

“What are you doing here, Arella?  Who are you?”

 She glanced at him, but then looked away.

 “Let me guess,” he said dryly.  “You won’t say anything until we contact the Israeli Embassy.”

She looked back at him, a little surprised.  Then she shrugged.  Jordan sighed.  He looked up when the flashing red lights of an ambulance bounced off the far end of the wall of containers, alternately lighting up the corridor in red and then darkness.

“Over here!” he called out.  “Paramedic needed over here!”

A moment later two EMT’s appeared in a flash of red.  They began to run toward him.  Jordan looked back down at Arella.  In the flashing lights he could see that she had broken out into a cold sweat and her eyes were closed.

“Arella?  Arella?!”

He shook her, but she didn’t respond.

“ _Arella_!”

 

**Thursday, August 21, 2014**

 

  Benson was in the second to last row on the far end, probably in the worst seats in the entire room the graduation ceremony was being held in.  Well, maybe the guy stuck behind Jordan’s tall head was in a slightly worse spot.

Oska’s name was called (his given name, which was Vladimir, which made them snigger like children), and while the audience clapped politely, Jordan and Benson shouted loudly and whistled.  He could see Oska’s eyes cut over in their direction, but he refused to look at them and walked stoically across the floor to the director.  Director Comey handed Oska his certificate of graduation and shook his hand.  Then then they froze in that position and turned to smile for the camera.  Then Oska walked over to a table covered in fresh leather cases and badges.  The director of the FBI Academy handed him his FBI credentials and his badge as a federal agent of the law.  His service weapon would be issued when he went to his assigned field office.  Then Oska returned his to seat.

It didn’t take too long for the thirty trainees to complete their graduation and officially become agents.  Then the director and an instructor gave some closing remarks, and the ceremony was adjourned to the small reception that was set up in the back of the room.  Most everyone in the audience rushed forward to find their graduate, but Jordan and Benson hung back as they’d planned ahead with Oska.  Oska made his way through the crowd and found them in the relative peace at the back of the room.

Benson’s face split into a grin so wide it almost hurt.  He held out his arms and Oska moved right into them, hugging him tightly.  Benson pulled him in close.

“Congratulations, Oz.  You are now officially an agent with the FBI.”

Oska pulled back and smiled at them both.  Then he tilted his head and a suggestion of pain tinged his smile.

“Is it weird that I have mixed feelings about that?”

“No,” Jordan said with a laugh.  “I felt the same way.  You spend eighteen weeks so intently focused on one thing, pushing yourself mentally and physically, and at the end of the long, hard climb up the hill—you’ve got a mountain waiting for you.”

Oska stared at Jordan, his smile completely gone.  Benson patted Oska soothingly on the back.

“Well, thank you for the words of encouragement, Jay,” Benson said with a wry smile.

“Sorry!  I was just—”

“It’s fine,” Oska said.  “And I get it.  You just put my feelings into words.”

The tension in Jordan’s shoulders eased.  “Okay, then.  I guess I should just say congratulations.”

“Thank you.  And congratulations to the both of you on the resolution of your case.  The numbers are kind of hard to fathom.  Over a hundred arrests, three dozen kids saved, countless more released from slavery, and no one hurt in the shootout at the port.  Quite dramatic.  Jordan, I’m ecstatic that you’re safe, but I’m also very glad you weren’t there, Benson.”

“It’s all thanks to you,” Benson said, kissing Oska’s temple.  “You gave me the idea to look for the kids at the animal shelter.”

“Well, looks like I’m going to be a pro at this, hmm?”

Benson smiled and could tell that he was full on gazing at his fiancé, but it felt like his heart would hurt too much if he looked away.  It also helped that Oska was gazing right back at him.  They leaned in together and shared a sweet, chaste kiss.  Then Benson went in for a little bit more.  Then he turned so that he could sweep his tongue into his mouth.

“Et-hmm!”

They pulled apart at the sound of Jordan’s loud, annoyed, and slightly embarrassed throat clearing.  Benson gave him a sheepish smile, but Oska just grinned.  Jordan cleared his throat again, softer this time and indicated something behind them.  They turned and saw the director of the academy, Burrman, and Oska’s favorite instructor, Cooper, approaching them.

“Agent Mercer,” Burrman said as he stuck out a hand.  “Congratulations.”

Oska shook his hand.  “Thank you, sir.”  Then he shook Cooper’s hand.

Burrman looked at Jordan.  “I recognize you.  You must have graduated not too long ago."

“About three years ago, sir,” Jordan said.

“Are you an agent as well?” Burrman asked Benson.  “I usually have such a good memory…”

 “Yes, sir, I am an agent.  But I graduated over nine years ago.”

“Ah, I was still an SSA in Tampa then.  I’m glad Mercer has good friends here to support him.”

“This is my friend, Jordan Szustakowski,” Oska said.  “And then is Benson Remick.  My fiancé.”

 Burrman and Cooper shook their hands and Burrman gave Oska a thump on the back.

 “So, this is the fiancé at WFO.  Starting from today, you have ninety days to make it official,” he said with a chuckle.

 Oska smiled.  “It’ll be official sooner rather than later.”

“Well, WFO is lucky to get you,” Cooper said.  “You’re the best trainee I’ve had the pleasure to instruct in quite some time.”

“Thank you, sir.  It was truly an honor to learn from you.”

“Alright, alright.  You got your badge.  You don’t have to suck up anymore.”

Oska smiled and exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Burrman and Cooper moved on.  Oska leaned into Benson’s side and said, “Okay, so can we go get some real food?  Real breakfast food.  I haven’t had non-rubbery eggs and crispy bacon in months.”

“There’s an IHOP a couple of miles up the highway,” Benson said.

“Oh, yes.  The one near the Holiday Inn,” Oska said, giving Benson a sly smile as they both remembered their sexy, syrupy weekend the previous month.

“You two are so gross,” Jordan grumbled.

“Jealous,” Oska accused him.

“Oska!” They all turned at the excited voice.

Del came up to them and hugged Oska tightly.

“Isn’t it great?  I’m so glad we survived.”

“Me too.  And I owe it to you, Del.”

Benson’s brow creased.  That was an odd thing to say.

Del pulled back, his expression way too soft and sappy to be looking at someone else’s fiancé.

“I didn’t do anything.”

 “You did.  I’m extremely grateful.  Thank you.  And thanks for being a great roommate.”

 Benson tried not to frown, but something had happened between Del and Oska and he had no idea what it might be.  Oska never mentioned any favor that Del had done for him that made him feel like he was indebted to him.  In order to take some of Del’s attention off of Oska, Benson spoke to him.

 “Congratulations to you too, Del.”

 “Thank you, Benson.”

“I think Oska told me you’re from Texas.  Were you able to get assigned to Houston or Dallas or somewhere near home?”

 “Actually, I got assigned to WFO,” he said cheerfully.  “So, I’ll be able to work with you both.”

Benson could tell that his smile was a little fake.  “That’s great,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral even though a guy who had a crush on his soon-to-be-husband was going to continue to hang around him.  He glanced at Oska and could see his thoroughly amused expression.  The little fucker had known about Del’s assignment and had just wanted to see Benson’s reaction.

 “Yeah, I’m very excited about moving here.  Oska said he’d help me apartment hunt.”

“He doesn’t even know the area,” Benson muttered.

“That’s why I said you’d help us, babe,” Oska said, giving him a pat on the chest.

“Oh.  Well.  I’d love to.”

“That’s great.  Well, I need to get back to my parents.  We’ll talk more later, Oz!”

Del hurried off and Benson grabbed Oska’s chin and made him look at him.

“Unh-uh.  No.  No Oz.  You be sure to correct him of that.”

“Okay, I will.  Promise.  Now, can we please go get an omelet and some pancakes?  And maybe a milkshake.  And some sausage.  I really want some decent sausage.”

The trio started to leave the room, deciding to skip the store bought cookies and punch available at the reception.

“Just to be clear,” Jordan said, “when you say ‘sausage,’ you don’t mean Benson’s, right?”

 

**Friday, August 22, 2014**

 

Something disturbed Benson from his cocoon of absolute bliss.  He knew he was safe and comfortable and that the solid warmth pressed close to him was a man who made him happy and feel loved and laugh harder than his jokes really warranted.  And something was bothering him and making him wake up.  The sharp elbow to his gut didn’t help either.

“Benson,” Oska muttered into his pillow.  “It’s your cell phone.  Answer it or turn it off.”

"It’s probably just Bob.  Mad that I’m playing hooky.”

“So turn it off.”

“Fine.”

Benson grumbled and shuffled around until he could pick up his phone.  The screen said that the number was restricted.  He made a face.  That probably meant it was something moderately important; a police department or someone in the Bureau whose number he didn’t have saved in his contacts.  He swiped his thumb over the screen to answer and stayed propped up near the nightstand so that he could hang up quicker.

“Hello?”

“This is a phone call from Locust Grove Correctional Facility.  An inmate is requesting to speak with you.  The inmate is,” the automated voice cut off and Russ said, “Russell Little.”  The automated voice returned.  “If you will accept this call press one.  If you do not accept this call, press two and the call will end.”

Benson sighed.  If he didn’t accept the call Russ might pitch a fit.  When they first started their arrangement months ago, Benson had told him that he wasn’t going to give him his number, and if he somehow ever found it and used it, their arrangement would be off.  Of course, since their arrangement was off, Russ had no reason not to call him.  He was going to have to change his number now.

He sat up and started to get out of bed.  He might save everyone at the prison a colossal headache by talking to him.

“Where you going?” Oska mumbled sleepily.

“I just have to take this call really quickly.  Go back to sleep.  I’ll be back before you know it.”

Oska grumbled, but hugged a pillow and dozed off.  Benson pushed one on the keypad and left the bedroom.  He pulled the door shut and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of orange juice.

“Thank you for accepting the call,” the voice said.  “Please standby.”

Benson took a sip of orange juice and savored the taste—ignoring advice from every doctor he’d ever had that he should stop drinking juice altogether because it had too much sugar in it.

“Hello?”

“Russ,” Benson said, infusing his voice with irritation and displeasure.

“Ah.  I see you’re still angry with me.”

Benson didn’t respond to that.

“You’re not going to come see me today, are you?”

Benson put his glass down with a sharp clack.  “You bit me,” he said testily.

“You’re right, you’re right.  I was out of line.  Although, you did upset me.  So, really, some of this is on you.”

“Yeah, sure,” Benson said, taking the path of least resistance and another sip of his juice.

“I’m not a completely unreasonable guy, Benson.  I’ll give you a break.  It seems like you need one.  I think shooting Darcy took a lot out of you.  And you did do me that favor, so we can take a break.  But I’ve got a lot more stories.  And a lot more disciples.  We’ll talk about them all.  When you’re ready.”

“Russ.  I’m not—”

“Sh, sh.  Not now, I know.  When you’re ready we’ll talk about it all.  All you have to do is give yourself to me.  And I can wait.  I’m much more patient than you think I am.”

Benson felt nauseated.  “Please stop—”

“Hush, Benson.  You’re upset and rightfully so.  You just need to cool off for a bit, and I can respect that.  So, you take all the time you need, and then you’ll come to me when you’re ready.  I’m sure it’ll be sooner than you think right now.  Take care of yourself until I can.”

Russ ended the call.  Benson turned off the phone and tossed it onto the kitchen island next to his glass.  He rubbed his eyes with his fingers.  Well, that was creepy as fuck.  But it did give him a bit of a reprieve, and he was willing to take it.

~~~

Jordan stood by the nurses' station as a guard patted him down for weapons or electronic equipment.  He’d been told that Arella had survived the gunshot after six hours of surgery to repair her liver which had been clipped by the bullet, but he hadn’t been given permission to see her until now.  Once the guard was satisfied that he had nothing suspicious on him, he led him down the corridor to the last room where another two guards were posted outside the door.  The guard opened it for him and Jordan stepped through, shutting it behind him.

Arella was sitting propped up in the bed, her face pale and drawn.  Her hair was lank, her lips were chapped, and a large bruise had formed in the crook of her elbow where an IV had been inserted.  The gown she wore was a dingy buttery yellow and did her complexion no favors.  Jordan still thought she looked pretty.

“Hey, Jordan,” she said, her voice a little raspy.

“Hi.”  He stared at her for a moment and then said, “So.  Mossad.”

She shrugged like she’d been accused of taking the last cookie from the jar.

“Why were you here?  How did you know about this case?”

“We’ve been tracking Podvodnik and his group for a while, but we didn’t have any solid evidence on him.  We also had no legal standing to do anything about it since no Israeli citizens had ever been affected.  We just tried to keep tabs on his people whenever he was in the area to ensure he never did try anything in our country.”

“Why would they have been in your area then?”

“They routinely kidnapped Palestinian kids.”

“Ah.  And they’re not worth protecting, right?”

“I’m not saying that.  We just had no standing or business getting involved with that.  Just like the United States doesn’t involve themselves if it doesn’t involve American citizens or American soil.”

“Okay.  So why did you get involved?”

“That group of thirteen kids you helped rescue on Wednesday.  They’re Israelis.  They were on a school trip.  We think Podvodnik’s men mistook them for Palestinians.  Our research told us that he operated out of the United States, but we didn’t know how he got them into the country or where they went from there.

“My partner and I were contacted because we were already in the country.  I went to Potomac First to look into getting a job there to investigate him from the inside, but he wasn’t hiring and wouldn’t make an exception for a cute, flirty blonde.  Before I left though, he gave me a business card recommending Klein & Klein if I wanted to get into investing.  I thought that if he was pushing that company, then that must be the real front for the trafficking, not the bank.  We managed to capitalize on the company needing a new receptionist ASAP.  And…I guess you know the rest.”

“Not really.  So, every time you brought me information on something…”

“My partner was using our resources to hack into whatever systems we needed to pull the information.”

“How did you figure out I’m an agent?  I was stunned when you told me at the time so I didn’t question it, but I’m pretty sure you couldn’t just Google that information.”

“Oh, well.  I pulled your prints from a glass you used when you visited my apartment.”

“You have access to an American database of fingerprints?”

She shrugged.

He let out a soft, humorless laugh.  “Was that even your apartment?”

“No.  It was our command post.  I wouldn’t let you come over until so late that first time because we had to go out and buy furniture and get the place set up.”

“Wow.”

“I’d apologize to you for shagging you under false pretenses, but technically, you were doing the same thing, Mr. Bell.”

Jordan smiled and rubbed the back of his neck.  “Oh, yeah.  That.  Slightly different circumstances.”

“Sort of.  But not really.”

Jordan gave her a small smile.  He stepped closer hesitantly.  He managed to get close enough to take her small hand in his.

“How are you?”

“Okay.  The doctors said the surgery went well and I should recover in a few days.  And thank you.  For saving my life.”

Jordan let out a soft noise, halfway between amusement and bemusement.  “Thank you.  For saving my life.”

“I guess we’re even.”

“Are you going to get in trouble?” he asked, unable to squash his curiosity anymore.

“Well, sort of.  But not really.  My partner and I are actually here with diplomatic immunity.  But identity theft and interfering in a federal investigation and illegal possession of firearms—that’s more than enough to get us PNG’ed out of the country.”

Jordan nodded.  “Wow,” he said again, unable to think of a more appropriate response.  If there was one.  He made a feeble attempt at humor.  “I guess that kind of puts the kibosh on our relationship.  I mean, if you’re not allowed to step foot on American soil ever again.”

Arella smiled.  “Yeah.”  She tilted her head and gave his hand a squeeze.  “Also, it probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway.  Since, you know, you’re in love with someone else.”

Jordan stiffened.  He swallowed with a little difficulty and Arella gave his hand another little squeeze, and then released it.  Jordan supposed they didn’t have any more to say, so he said, “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Jordan.”

He turned and walked to the door.  He paused before he opened it and looked back at her.

“Hey, is your real name Arella?”

The woman in the bed just smiled at him.  Jordan opened the door and left the room.

 

**Saturday, August 23, 2014**

 

Oska put his phone into the little storage locker, checking one last time that he hadn’t received a text from Benson calling him out on his lie.  He’d told Benson that he was driving to a lumber warehouse in Virginia to see if he could find some good wood to build nightstands to match their bedroom furniture.  The door to the room opened and a young man peeked inside.

“Agent Mercer?  The prisoner has agreed to meet with you.”

Oska nodded and followed the young correctional officer down the hallway.  His uniform said Garner and he looked like he’d started the job yesterday.  He felt a little nervous about trusting him to monitor his meeting with Russ, but he figured a maximum security prison had enough protocol in place to handle the situation.

He felt awful for lying to Benson.  And he felt guilty for bluffing his way into a meeting by flashing his credentials which were barely two days old.  He’d actually thought that Russ might refuse to see him, or that he would come to his senses and leave.  But here he was on his way to see the man who had killed his sister, tried to kill him, and was obsessed with his fiancé.  He hoped the meeting would bring him some closure even if it was an unmitigated disaster—which he highly suspected it would be.

Garner made him wait outside the interview room while he stepped inside and opened an interior door.  Through the tiny window of the exterior door, Oska watched the guard secure Russ’ shackles to the floor, and then to the table.  Then he walked back to the door and opened it for Oska to enter.  He had to take a deep breath before he felt steady enough to walk inside.

He felt like he was moving in slow motion as he entered the room.  Russ’ eyes followed him carefully, his expression neutral, but his hands were folded so tightly together his knuckles were white.  Oska swallowed as he looked at him.  He realized he hadn’t seen Russ in person—or at all really—since the day Benson had rescued him from the Motor Lodge Inn in Elton.  He hadn’t seen him in prison.  He hadn’t been to any of his court dates.  Oska had only gone to court to testify before the grand jury—which Russ wasn’t present for—so that the prosecution could prove there was enough evidence to indict him.  In theory, he was never going to see him again.  He’d been assured that they had enough evidence to put Russ away without his testimony, so he could just try to put the man from his mind and never have to be in the same building as him let alone trapped in a small room.

But he’d gone to school with Russ all his life.  As far as he knew, they’d never been enemies.  They’d never really been friends either, but before Benson Russ had never shown him any animosity.  He needed to know why he’d killed his sister.  Logically he knew that there would be no rational explanation.  Russ was insane and his own internal reasoning wouldn’t make sense in the real world, but Oska still felt like he had to talk to him.  Just to know that he had tried.

Oska pulled out the chair opposite from Russ and dragged it toward the end of the table closest to the door.  He sat down in it and Russ just continued to watch him.  So, Oska watched him back.  They must have stared at each other for a full five minutes or longer.  The interior door opening startled Oska so badly he jumped halfway out his chair, poised to run for the door.  Russ smirked at his discomfort.  The new guard told Garner that he wasn’t experienced enough to monitor this kind of prisoner yet and sent him out the exterior door.  Oska did feel slightly safer having the more experienced guard in the room.  Russ looked a little annoyed, but he’d always had a kind of pinched disdain on his features, even as a teen.

 “So.  Oska.  What brings you to my humble abode?” Russ asked.

 “I just…wanted to ask you why you killed my sister.”

 Russ sat back with a disappointed sigh.  “Is that all?  Why do you care?  She wasn’t even your real sister; just a stepsister.”

 “She was a sister in every way that mattered.  I loved her and she didn’t deserve to be tortured and murdered by a sick psychopath and his deranged sidekick.”

 “Whoa, hey, hey.  You come into my house and insult me?  Do you expect me to answer your questions with that attitude?”

 “To be honest, I don’t really expect you to answer them at all.  You’ve become a little predictable at this point.”

 Russ narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on the table, his chains clinking softly and reassuringly.

 “I killed your whore of a sister because she went against the natural order of the world.”

 Oska fought back his rage at hearing him use that word.  He squeezed his hands together under the table and counted to five before speaking.

 “Do you seriously think she was a witch?  Just because she hung up a few crystals and burned incense?”

 “Oh, no, of course not.  All that Biblical bullshit was just part of the staging for the Angel Slayer murders.  Once you pick a theme, you gotta stick with it.”

 “So, why did you choose her?”

 “She was unnatural.”

 “How?!” Oska demanded, his composure slipping.

“Oska.  There is a normal way to live life.  The right way.  She flitted through life like an airhead.  She was a waste of a human being.  An affront to the very mission we serve as a species.  She had to go.”

Oska sat back in his chair.  “You’re just making shit up.”

“Just because you refuse to understand that the way I see the world is the right way, doesn’t mean what I say isn’t the truth.”

“You’re so full of shit.  You’re a pervert, that’s all.  She probably turned you down for a date, so you thought you had the right to teach her a lesson by raping and killing her.  Like every other misogynistic serial killer out there who blames their mom or ‘all the bitches in the world’ for not giving them what they’re entitled to.  You’re such a textbook cliché, Russ.  It’s a little disappointing that it took Benson so long to figure out what a colossal loser was in front of him the whole time.”

Russ rolled his eyes.  “I knew it.  You had to bring up Benson.  You seriously make me want to strangle you, you dumb little bitch.”

“Hey,” the guard gave a verbal warning and put his hand on his baton.  Russ ignored him.

“Benson and I have a bond that you will never understand.  Just because you were willing to get down on your cocksucking knees doesn’t mean he gives a single fuck about you.

“You have got to be the most pathetic fuck on this planet.  You give up someone as—elevated—as Benson, and then being the sniveling parasite you are try to attach yourself to him by assuming his life.  Seriously, Oska?  You went through all the trouble of becoming an FBI agent—or at least impersonating one—just so that you could be like him?  He and I are so far above you—you’ll never catch up.  You’re lower than mud, Oska.  You’re swimming in sludge like your cunt of a sister.”

The insult to himself and his sister barely registered.  He was piecing together a very important point from Russ’ inane rant.

“He never told you,” Oska said softly.

Something in Oska’s voice or demeanor must have gotten Russ’ attention because his sneer dissipated.

“Told me what?”

Oska felt a perverse pleasure in knowing that telling Russ about his relationship with Benson would enrage the man.  It would probably drive him mad with jealousy and hatred.  Oska knew it was wrong to be so happy about what would amount to emotional torture—even though the guy was a psychopath—but he couldn’t help but smile when he spoke.

“I didn’t become an agent to follow Benson, or in the hopes that we’d bump into each other.  It was his idea.  He suggested it to me.  When we were in bed together.  The morning after I moved in with him.  Which was about a month after your arrest.  We’ve been together for a little over eight months.  Almost a year if you count our time in Elton together.”

Oska leaned on the table and met Russ’ eyes with a spiteful grin.

“Benson loves me, Russ.  We’re getting married on Monday.”

Russ’ whole body was trembling.  His face was a myriad of emotions, his eyes looked a little wild because his pupils had constricted so small.

“You’re lying,” he whispered.

Oska sat back with a laugh.  “You know I’m not.”

There was a moment of complete silence and stillness.  And then Russ screamed and leapt out of his seat.  Oska stumbled up as Russ moved out of his chair, past the table.  The guard started, surprised that Russ had that much mobility.  His chains had been secured improperly and Russ was over the table and grabbing Oska’s head in seconds.  He didn’t go for the throat; his hands grabbed Oska’s chin and temple, pointing in opposite directions.  Oska had a split second to realize that he had maybe two more seconds to live before Russ snapped his neck.

The guard plowed into Russ’ back, which shoved him and Oska into the wall, causing Russ’ arms to bend so that he lost his leverage.  They all crashed to the floor and three more guards poured out of the interior room and helped drag Russ off of Oska.  He didn’t fight them as they secured his bonds and began to drag him roughly from the room.  His eyes stayed on Oska and his voice was soft.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said.

Oska absolutely believed that if Russ ever had the opportunity, he wouldn’t be foiled a second time.  The interior door closed and Oska sat on the floor, rubbing his neck even though Russ’ hands had never touched it.  The guard who had tackled Russ offered a hand and helped him up.  Oska looked at the name on his uniform.

“Thank you, Officer Michelson.  I owe you my life.”

“Anyone would’a done it,” the man shrugged off the thanks.  “And besides, you’re going to hate me in three seconds.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to have to call your supervisor and report this incident.”

“Right.  My supervisor.”

Technically he didn’t have one yet.  He also was not here on official business even though that’s how he’d gotten himself access to Russ.  He was definitely going to get his badge and creds revoked and then be dismissed from the Bureau.  Perfect.  Russ was still finding ways to ruin his life.

Over two hours later, Oska was still sitting in an interview room, waiting.  His elbows were on the table and his face was in his hands.  His mind was racing with so many thoughts that he couldn’t concentrate on a single one.  It was almost like having a blank mind, except it had caused a terrible headache to bounce back and forth between his temples.

The door to the interview room opened and a guard he hadn’t interacted with before poked his head in.

“Agent Mercer?  Your supervisor is here.”

Oska sat back in his chair and fidgeted nervously as Benson came into the room.  He shut the door behind him and put his hands on his waist.  Oska played with the hem of his T-shirt.

“So.  Imagine my confusion when I get a call from the Locust Grove Correctional Facility telling me there’s been an incident with ‘one of my agents.’  Imagine my surprise when I find out that my fiancé, who supposedly went shopping for lumber, is the agent in question.  Imagine my terror as I’m told that my agent was attacked by Russ Little.”

Oska inhaled and exhaled sharply, fighting tears.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know who else to call.  I didn’t want anyone to know that I had used my creds to get in.  I didn’t want—”

Oska cut off as Benson yanked him out of his chair by the arm.  He wrapped his arms around him tight enough to make breathing a little difficult.  Benson put a hand to the back of Oska’s head and held him as tightly to his body as possible.

“Jesus Christ, Oska,” Benson whispered.  And that’s all he said.

Oska hugged him back.  “I’m sorry,” he said lamely.

They stood in the room holding each other for a very long time.  When Benson pulled back he tried to discreetly wipe away his tears, but Oska could still feel the wet patch on his shirt.

“Come on,” Benson said, “we’re leaving.  I already smoothed things over with the deputy warden.  He owed me one.  And I told him I’d take care of it on the Bureau’s end.  Let’s just go home.  There’s no reason for anyone to know this ever happened.”

Oska took his hand and squeezed it tightly.  “Thank you,” he said, his voice pure gratefulness.

“Well, no one else,” Benson said, his tone sharpening just a bit.  “You and I will be having a talk when we get home.”

Oska dropped his eyes to the floor and nodded.  He allowed Benson to lead him by the hand out of the prison.  The hour ride back to Bethesda was mostly silent.  Oska had a feeling he knew what Benson wanted to talk to him about, but he didn’t want to talk about it.  So, he wasn’t going to bring it up.  If Benson asked, Oska would tell him because he owed him that much at this point.  Also, as much as he didn’t want to tell him, part of him knew he would know the truth one day and he thought it would just be better to get it over and done with as soon as possible.

When they got to the apartment, Benson didn’t rush him.  They took Charlie for a nearly half hour walk and then took time to prepare sandwiches and eat them in the kitchen.  Before long though they were sitting on the couch in the living room, which was crammed into a tight space because the dining room table and chairs Oska had built took up too much of the room.  They really ought to just sell the set.  It wasn’t his best work; he could make Benson something better.

Benson sat on the cushion next to Oska rather than at the far end.  He had one leg bent so that he could partially turn and face him, resting his arm on the back of the couch.  Oska copied his position, except he left both hands in his lap so that he had something to hold onto.  Something to focus his eyes on rather than Benson’s face.  They were quiet again for long, protracted moments.  Benson must be waiting for Oska to begin, but once he figured out Oska wouldn’t initiate the conversation, he started asking questions.

“Why did you go see Russ, Oska?”

“I wanted to ask him why he killed my sister.”

“Ah.”  The tone of Benson’s voice suggested that that wasn’t the explanation he’d been expecting, but that it made sense.  “What did he say?”

“Crazy psychopath bullshit.  But I didn’t expect anything else.”

“Did it help?”

“Not really.  But, at least I’ve done it.  And that helps in a way.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Did you go for any other reason?” Benson asked softly, eyes on his bent knee.

“No.”

“Oh.”  Benson nodded, and then looked up.  He gave him a small smile and brushed the backs of his fingers over Oska’s cheek.  “I’m glad you’re okay.  And I understand why you went and why you didn’t tell me.  Just.  Please.  Don’t lie to me…if you don’t have to.  Just remind me that you’re a grown ass man and can make your own decisions whether or not I like them or agree with them.”

Oska nodded, and then gave him a hangdog look.  “Not that I’ve done that for you for the past several months.”

Benson shrugged.  “I still did what I wanted to anyway.”

“Good point.  I guess we’re both stubborn and willful.”

“Makes one wonder how we can stand to be together.”

“Must be the sex.”

Benson laughed.  “Yeah.  That too.”  He gave Oska a wink.  Then he leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  He started to get off the couch asking, “You wanna watch a movie?” but Oska stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“Benson, wait.  I…I think we should talk.”

Benson sat back down.

“Or, well, I should talk.  About that night in Elton.  When Russ took me.”

Benson drew in a sharp breath and inched closer so that he could take Oska’s hand in his.  Oska could tell that he was anxious, eager even to finally know what had happened.  But he didn’t push him.  In fact he said, “Oska, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, believe me.  I kind of really don’t want to.  But, I think I should.  I think I need to.”

Benson nodded and waited quietly.  Being patient and perfect…Oska squeezed Benson’s hand.  He didn’t think Benson would leave him…but what if it made him see him differently?  What if it made him a little disgusted?  What if he remembered it every time he looked at Oska?  What if eventually the mere thought of touching him made him nauseated?  He would leave him then.

Oska clenched his teeth and looked down.  He couldn’t tell him.  He couldn’t…Benson moved even closer and pulled him into his arms.  He soothed him and petted his head like he was a small child.

“Shh, it’s okay.  You don’t have to tell me.  You don’t have to tell me now or ever.  It’s okay.”

Feeling Benson’s arms wrapped around him made him feel secure, safe.  He trusted Benson, and he trusted him when he said he loved him through the good and the bad.  Well, now was the time to give him some bad and see if his trust was well given.

“I don’t remember anything after he drugged me.  Of course.  So, I don’t remember how we got from my car back to your motel room.  When I started to come to I was very groggy and disoriented.  I couldn’t quite focus my eyes and I couldn’t move my arms or legs.  I realized later that my wrists and ankles were tied to the bed and that I was stark naked.  I was on my back on one side of the mattress and the drugs made me feel sick and there was movement and it was bouncing me and I thought I might throw up.  But, eventually, my head did clear a little bit and that’s when I saw Russ…

“He was on the mattress beside me.  And he was…he was humping the mattress.  Like full on having sex with it and kissing the pillow and everything.”

He heard Benson make a small noise of disgust.

“He was fully clothed.  Thank God.  But, he was going to town and he was almost done.  Or, well, I don’t know if he…came,” Oska swallowed the bile in his throat.  “Or if he was just done with that portion of his entertainment.  But he stopped and sat up, and that’s when I saw that he had…”  Oska buried his face in Benson’s chest.  “He had laid out one of your suits on the bed.  He’d been pretending to have sex with you.  Or pretending to rape you.  While he was in bed beside me.”

Benson’s body was rigid, but his hold on Oska grew tighter.  Oska’s hands dug painfully into Benson’s side and thigh.  It probably wasn’t terribly pleasant for Benson either, but he didn’t ease his grip.

“Once he saw that I was awake, he started talking.”

“Fucker does love the sound of his own voice,” Benson muttered.

Oska nodded.  “That’s definitely true.  To be honest—I have a memory that I know what he said, but the drugs were still in my system and I really didn’t understand too much.  I think he was mostly just complaining about the fact that I monopolized you.  Or took you.  Stole you, I suppose.  And he accused me of defiling you.  I think he actually used the word sully—I really can’t remember too clearly.

“I do remember the glow of heat.  I couldn’t process what he was doing at the time, but he must have been heating the brand.  I just remember the dull orange glow in my vision as he talked and talked about how I’d taken what wasn’t mine.

“Then he used the brand on my chest.  I feel like that should have hurt and it probably did because I remember reacting to it, but I don’t remember the pain.  I remember the smell though.  It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.  Kind of like cooking pork rinds.”

“Gross, Oz.”

He almost managed a smile.  “Sorry, but it was mostly skin and fat crisping up.  After he put the brand away he came back and started talking again.  He talked about how I had no right to even exist near you because you were his.  And that every part of you belonged to him.  You mind, soul, blah blah.  He kept saying that the body was just a meat suit.  That it didn’t mean anything.  That he could use your body up and damage it and destroy it and it wouldn’t have any effect on your beauty.  And then he started talking about…”

 Oska cut off and felt his body seize up on him—his chest tightened, his face scrunched up uncomfortably, tears gathered thick in his eyes and throat.

 “He started talking about what he was going to do to you.  How he was going to…how he was going to touch you and…how, how…”

 Oska broke off with a sob, shutting his mind against the memory of the gross, vile words Russ had used.

 “Shh,” Benson soothed him.  “It’s okay.  He didn’t hurt me.  And he can’t anymore.”

 Oska shook his head.  “It’s not that…”  He sobbed again.  Was he really going to go through with telling him what had happened next?  “He kept talking…talking about how he was going to spread your legs and worship your body and take you so hard you’d be screaming and crying and begging for him to make it hurt worse.  And…”  Oska closed his eyes and tightened his hold on Benson.  He wouldn’t let him run away from him.  “And he was touching me, Benson.  He…”  Oska swallowed yet another sob.  “He was using his hand on—on my penis.  And I had an erection.  And he kept talking about how beautiful you’d look while he ruined you and he touched me and I…”

 Oska broke down completely.  His grip loosened and he slumped into Benson’s lap.

 “I came, Benson.”  The words barely made it out because he was heaving so heavily with sobs.  “He made me come while fantasizing about hurting you.  I’m—I’m so sorry.  I so, so sorry.  Benson…”

Oska gave up on words and just let himself cry.  He sobbed and he wailed and Benson never left him.  He just held him and rubbed his back and occasionally whispered soft, nonsensical words to him.  And Oska let his sobs turn to muffled screams.  All the anger and hatred he felt toward Russ for turning him into a monster poured out of him.  He wanted the memory gone and he wanted Benson to yell at him, to call him disgusting, and to tell him that he hated him.  He needed Benson to think that he was just as revolting as he felt.  But he didn’t want that.  He wanted Benson to still love him and tell him everything was okay.  He was so selfish.  He was so incredibly selfish and he never should have dumped all of this onto Benson.

Oska didn’t know how long he cried, and he didn’t know how long after he stopped crying that he just lay with his head in Benson’s lap, staring at the wall.  Benson’s hands never stilled, one rubbed soothing circles on his back and the other combed through his hair.  They stayed that way long enough for Oska to notice that the sun had shifted quite a bit in the room.  At last, Oska managed to find the strength to sit up.  His tears had long since dried and his cheeks felt tight from the salt.  He forced himself to look up and meet Benson’s eyes.  He would take his rejection with as much poise as he could manage.

Benson raised a hand and attempted to pat down Oska’s hair a bit.  And then he took his hand.

“Feel better?” he asked.

No, of course not.  He felt like shit.  Like he’d just hit the self-destruct button on his world.  Plus he felt tired and achy from sobbing so hard.  And yet…the exhaustion from finally letting everything out did feel a little cathartic.  He gave a small nod of his head.  Benson gave him a little smile in return.  He brushed his cheek with his knuckles again.

“So.  What happened next?”

“Um.”  Oska tilted his head, a little confused.  “Next?”

“After that.  Keep going.  You can finish.”

“But…”  He had finished.  That was the horrible, shameful secret.  “Um.  He untied one of my wrists and I tried to hit him.  That’s when he smashed my wrist with the mallet.  The pain was overwhelming; I couldn’t do anything as he turned me over.  He tied me up, blind folded me, gagged me, and put that thing on my ankles.  And you came not long after that.”

“Thank God I got there before he could do more.”  Benson cupped his face with his hands.  “Oska, I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry that I—”

Oska flinched out of his touch and Benson’s expression became shocked and hurt.

“That’s it?” Oska asked.  “Didn’t you hear what I said?”

Benson shook his head, confused.  “Yes…I…I’m sorry he did that to you.  If I’d known I probably would have risked jail time and just shot him in the head.  Or the nuts.”

“Benson!”

Benson sat back, confused by Oska’s anger.

“You—you know what I did and you’re just…you’re just…”

“What _you_ did?  Oska, what do you think you did?”

“I got off on it, Benson!  Russ was talking about raping you violently and I got off on it!  I’m just as bad as he is!  Worse because he at least admits what he is!”

Benson’s face dissolved into compassion and sorrow.  “Oh, Oska…baby, no…you didn’t do anything.”

Oska pulled away when he reached for him.  “How can you say that?!  How can you be okay with what I did?!”

“Oska…you were drugged.  And you were scared and confused.  And the penis—well, it’s kind of stupid and thinks friction is friction and doesn’t care where it comes from.  You worked law enforcement for years.  You know that it’s not uncommon for rape victims to orgasm during the attack.  You would never blame the victim for being attacked and say it wasn’t really rape just because they orgasmed, would you?”

 "N-no, of course not.  But…this isn’t the same.”

 Benson moved forward and quickly and aggressively pulled Oska into another hug, probably worried that he would try to avoid him again.  But Oska was done with pulling away.  If Benson really…

 “You—you really don’t think I’m a monster?  That I’m sick like him?”

 “No,” Benson said firmly.  “And you know that too.  You know you’re not like him.  It is not your fault that he assaulted you.  It is not your fault that he knew what would hurt you the worst and took advantage of that.  Oska, you have done nothing wrong.  You are not sick or twisted.  If you had a choice, if you had your will—would you have let him touch you or thought about hurting me?”

 “No.  No…”  Oska tried to think of something else to say.  “No.”

 Benson pulled back and caressed his face.  “Oska, I am so sorry for what he did to you.  And I’m sorry that you feel guilty about it and that you’ve carried that around with you for so long.  You don’t deserve it.  You’ve done nothing wrong.”  Benson took his face in both hands and shook him a little bit.  “You’ve done nothing wrong.  Do you believe that?  Do you believe me?”

 Oska looked into Benson’s clear green eyes.  He was worried and upset, but not because he hated Oska or thought he was the same kind of vile filth that Russ was…he was just worried that he was hurting himself.  Benson didn’t believe he was a monster.  Benson didn’t believe he’d done a terrible, unforgivable thing.  And he believed in Benson, so he believed his words.

 Oska nodded.  “I believe you, Benson.”

 “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

 Oska shook his head.  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

 Benson let out a small sigh that was clearly filled with relief.  “I love you.  I adore you.  I admire you for being so strong.  Please know that what happened to you will never affect what we have and what we are together.  Russ has no place in our relationship.”

 Oska nodded, fully in agreement.

“But…”

Oska stiffened.  Jesus, there was a but?

“I think Russ is in your head,” Benson said gently.  “And…I’m not sure seeing an EAP counselor is going to be enough to help you.”

Oska relaxed.  Yes, that made sense.  That “but” was okay.  He nodded at Benson.

“You’re right.  I think I probably need some serious therapy.”  He gave Benson a tiny smile.  “The counselor I spoke to at Quantico actually gave me the name of a psychiatrist.  I think I’m—I’m going to start seeing him.”

“That’s good.”

“His office is in Arlington, so it’s not too far away.  His name is Marvel Leroux.”

“Marvel Leroux?” Benson said with skepticism.  “That sounds like the name of a French porn star.”

Oska put out a hand.  “That’s what I said!”

Benson laughed.  He leaned forward and kissed Oska, and then pulled back.

“Is this okay?”

“Of course.  Never doubt that.”

Benson leaned in and kissed him again.  Oska slid a hand along his cheek, his fuzzy stubble tickling his palm.  He opened his mouth to brush Benson’s tongue with his, but the man suddenly pulled away.

"You know…I just thought of something…” Benson said, a frown on his face.

 "What?”

 "I brought all of my suits back with me from Elton, Oska!”

 Benson leapt off the couch and ran to the bedroom.  Oska followed after him and found him grabbing up all the suits in his closet in one big armload and then tossing them onto the bed.

 “Which one was it?!  You know, I know you were traumatized and upset, but couldn’t you have at least told me not to take home the suit Russ had humped like a dirty towel?  Ugh.”  Benson made an exaggerated shudder.  “I’m going to have to burn them all.”

 “It’s gone,” Oska said.

 “What?”

 “When I moved in, I found it.  And I threw it away.”

 “I still had it for a month!”

 “Yes, but you never even noticed it was missing, so it probably wasn’t a suit you wore often or at all.  Plus, I thought that when you found your suit crumpled up on the floor of the motel room after everything was over that you would get it dry cleaned or figure out something weird had been done to it and would throw it away.”

 “The whole room was a mess, Oska.  My clothes and toiletries were strewn everywhere and opened up.  When they booked him at the Elton prison they found a pair of men’s boxer-briefs in his pocket.  They were mine.  Those I told them they could just throw away.”  Benson shuddered again like he could shake off the icky feeling.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think he actually he got anything on it.  Because even if he did, you know, he was still fully clothed.  I never did have to look at Russell Little’s penis.”

Benson snorted.  “You mean Russell’s little penis.”

Oska snorted a laugh too.  “God.  We are thirteen.”

Benson shrugged an uncaring shoulder at their immaturity.  Then he made another face.  “I should probably replace my entire wardrobe.  Ugh, I’m so grossed out right now.”

“We can do that,” Oska said.  “I actually did inherit a lot of money from my parents.  We can throw everything away.  Go shopping tomorrow.  Buy us both new suits for Monday.”

Benson raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment on the fact that his soon to be husband was apparently fabulously wealthy.  Nor asking for a prenuptial agreement.

“Okay.  Let’s go shopping tomorrow.”

Benson picked up the suits and tossed them onto the floor.  Then he began to strip out of the jeans and T-shirt he was wearing.  “I’ll get rid of everything.”  He shoved down his underwear and hopped around until he was out of his socks.  He stood buck naked in their bedroom, his hands in fists planted firmly on his hips.

 “Well.  I feel better.”

 Oska smiled as he looked his fiancé over—strong arms and chest, powerful thighs.  Just the slightest pudge around his middle that would probably come right off when Oska started cooking him healthy meals again.  He crossed the room and kissed Benson, running his hands over his chest, grabbing handfuls of his pectoral muscles, and then moving them down.  He trailed feather light fingertips over Benson’s cock and it began to perk up immediately.  Benson was right—penises were stupid and loved any kind of friction.

 He gave one last lick into Benson’s mouth and then pulled back with a smile.  “Let’s make love, Benson.  And don’t make a face at that expression.  I want you take me—nice and slow and as deep as you like.”

 Oska started to back up toward the bed.

 “No.”

 Oska stopped, the suggestion of doubt and fear prickling the back of his neck.

 “No, Oz.  You’re taking me.  And you’re going to do it rough.”

 Oska didn’t take a step back, but he retreated in his mind.  “What?”

 “I think you need to do this.  I think you need to be in control.  You need to hold me down and fuck me and take your pleasure in me.  And know that you’re in control, that you’re not hurting me, and that I’m not afraid of you.  I want you to test me—make me show you that I trust you.”

 Oska frowned.  “That’s not what I want.  I don’t want you to have to prove your love.  That’s ridiculous.”

 “I know.  And if you were asking me to let you do it to prove myself to you, I’d be angry and kind of resent you for even suggesting it.  But it’s not your idea.  It’s mine.  I want to be tested.”

 “Benson…”

 “Come on, Oska.”  He raised a challenging eyebrow.  “Don’t act like you don’t want to take me hard and rough.  Wherever you like.”

 Oska gave him a bit of scowl, but he wasn’t angry.  “I might take you over the dresser so hard it won’t just be the floor that makes it slant to the left.”

Benson laughed, his eyes shining with glee.  Oska knew it was because he remembered Benson’s incessant whining about the uneven floor and how he’d thought it was his old IKEA dresser and it drove him nuts.  He liked that Oska listened to him and thought about him.  Well, of course Oska did.  There wasn’t really anything in the world he liked near as much as knowing Benson.

Oska let his eyes roam over Benson again.  His cock was half hard just from anticipation alone.  Oska looked at his thighs and was suddenly hit with a desire to shove them apart and take every part of Benson for himself.

“Benson,” Oska said calmly, quietly.

“Yes?”

“Come take my clothes off.”

Benson obediently crossed the room and took the bottom of Oska’s shirt in his hands.  Oska raised his arms to facilitate Benson removing the garment.  He tossed it to the side.  Then he maintained eye contact as he worked open Oska’s belt and the fly of his jeans.  He sank slowly to his knees as he pushed the pants down Oska’s legs.  He helped him step out of them and removed his socks.  Then Benson slid his hands up Oska’s legs, slowly, pulling lightly on the fine hair.  He ran his hands all the way up the smooth, hairless part of his upper thighs and onto his hips.  His thumbs grazed along the sides of Oska’s erection, but he didn’t touch him just yet.  He hooked his fingers in the waist band of his orange colored briefs and pulled them down gradually.  When Oska’s cock sprang free he leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the tip, and then helped him step out of his underwear.

Benson stood up and kept his hands to himself, watching Oska and waiting for instructions.  Oska ran a hand appreciatively, possessively, down Benson’s flank.

“Get on the bed.  On your stomach.”

Benson obeyed and Oska grabbed the lube from the nightstand before crawling onto the bed with him.

“Lift your hips a bit,” Oska said.

Benson got his arms under his chest to keep himself propped up a bit and then raised his hips, balancing on his knees.  His back was bowed in a sensuous curve of soft skin and beautiful muscle.  It probably wasn’t terribly comfortable, but he seemed content to stay put.  Oska got between his legs, helping him spread them a bit farther apart.  Then he put both hands on Benson’s cheeks and spread his ass open.  Benson sucked in a short breath and Oska gazed at the pretty pink pucker of Benson’s entrance for a moment.  Their sex for the last eighteen weeks had been mostly virtual or rushed.  He hadn’t really had the opportunity to fully appreciate Benson properly in a long while.

Oska bent over and lightly blew over the muscle.  Benson flexed and his entrance fluttered.  Oska leaned down and begin licking.  Benson jerked forward, but Oska pulled him back.  He licked repeatedly at his hole, kissing it and sucking on the rim.  Benson groaned softly and wiggled his hips.  Oska moved his hands down and used his thumbs to pull his entrance open.  Benson groaned louder when the air hit his sensitive interior.  Oska filled it with his tongue immediately.  He pushed his face in as far as he could and licked inside Benson, pulling him open wider and making humming noises of pleasure as he ate him out.  His jaw started to ache with how forcefully he was going at him, but he hadn’t tasted him here in so long…

Oska sat up, panting for air and Benson was clenching his hands around the pillow that he was biting just as fiercely.  There was a pillow biter joke in there somewhere, but Oska didn’t have time for distractions.  He popped the cap off the lube and drizzled some directly onto Benson’s entrance.  The muscle flexed and Benson pushed his hips down into the mattress.  Oska smiled and used his middle finger to spread the lube around between his legs, brushing over his hole, and letting the pad of his finger slip in a bit with each pass.  Benson swiveled his hips again.

“Come on, baby.  Give me what I want…”  Benson whispered so softly that Oska suspected he didn’t realize that he’d said it out loud.

Oska decided that testing Benson’s trust didn’t mean he couldn’t be nice.  He pushed his middle finger inside and bit his lip to keep from moaning like a pervert as Benson’s body sucked him inside.  He put a hand on Benson’s ass cheek to balance himself and fucked his finger in and out of Benson’s hole.

“Fuck, you always feel so amazing,” Oska sighed.

Benson let out a whiny noise and pushed back onto his hand.  Oska easily slipped a second finger inside, but it was a little tight.  Benson hadn’t been stretched in a while.  Even taking the eighteen weeks into account, Oska had been more inclined to let Benson top since they’d moved in together than the near even switching they’d done in Elton.  He realized it was because he’d felt guilty and dirty when he’d taken Benson, feeling like he was indulging the monster Russ had exposed him to be.

Oska shook his head.  Russ had no place in their relationship.  He could just appreciate that Benson’s hole was clenching tight and needy around his fingers.  He leaned down and placed a kissed on his cute, bouncy butt cheek as he pushed in a third finger.  Benson groaned and pushed back against him.

“Yes, fill me up.”

“Hush,” Oska said distractedly.

Benson grumbled, but complied.

Oska watched his fingers disappear inside Benson’s body.  He pulled one cheek farther out so that he could see better.  He turned his hand over and pressed his fingers up as he dragged them down Benson’s insides, and then pushed them back in.  Benson twitched and one of his hands shot out and grabbed a slat of the headboard.  He clenched it hard enough to make it creak.  Oska twisted his hand around as his fingers stroked him from the inside over and over, waiting until Benson gave in and grabbed another slat with his other hand.  He suspected Benson would probably enjoy a little bondage, but they’d shied away from anything resembling it for obvious reasons.  Well that, but also because Oska was pretty certain that Benson was strong enough to break the bed.

Oska worked one hand in Benson’s body as he used the other to dribble a little lube onto his erection.  He slicked it up using the loose circle of his fingers, doing nothing to lessen the wet sounds it created from reaching Benson’s ears.  He pulled on the slats in his hands and the headboard pulled away from the wall.  Oska supposed if he let him break the bed, then that would be a good reason to build a new bed.  A sturdier bed.  One with built in fittings for easily tying off ropes or neckties.

Oska pulled his fingers out and gripped Benson’s hips.

“Move forward,” he panted.

Benson shuffled forward, keeping his hands on the headboard and got his knees under himself.  Oska was able to line up behind him easily and grunted like some kind of horny animal when his cockhead pushed against his entrance.  He was a little embarrassed by the noise and glanced up Benson.  He seemed too far gone to have heard him, or to care if he had.  Oska repressed a laugh and rubbed Benson’s lower back soothingly as he breached his rim, and then slid all the way in.  He shuffled forward on his knees so that he could push himself as far in as physically possible.

“Oska,” Benson moaned.  “Hang on, don’t move.”

“Does it hurt?” Oska asked, concerned he’d gone too fast.  He knew Benson had felt a little tighter than he remembered, but he had opened up so beautifully.

Benson shook his head.  “No.  Doesn’t hurt.  Just wanna feel you.”

“Fuck,” Oska whispered, dropping his head back, trying his best not to let his ego push him into orgasm just like that.  His fingers flexed over Benson’s hips, his skin turning red and then white under the pressure.

“You wanna really feel me, Benson?”

He dropped his head down toward the sheets and nodded.  “Yes, please…Oska…”

Oska pulled out slowly, concentrating on the feel of Benson’s body gliding over his cock, the clench of his rim pulling at each retreating inch.  He pulled out just enough that his head stretched Benson’s rim wide, but stayed inside him.  Benson let out a desperate noise and pulled on the headboard again.  Oska pushed back in, just as slowly, once again focusing on each sensation as Benson took him back inside his body.  It was an amazingly intimate moment and Oska loved every second of it, but Benson had asked for Oska to take him.  And he’d asked for it to be rough.  Oska was nothing if not eager to please his lover.

Oska moved his hips faster, nothing too wild yet, just enough to get his cock moving smoothly in Benson’s hole.  Then he began to move a little faster, his hips slapping Benson’s ass with quite a bit of force.  Benson moaned and spread his knees a bit wider.

“Move forward,” Oska demanded.

“Wh-what?” Benson asked, seemingly confused by words.

Oska helped him move by supporting him under the waist.  He got Benson to get up on his knees and close enough to the headboard that he could still hang on to the slats.  Oska moved in close behind him and circled his arms around his waist.  He used the bounce in the mattress to help him fuck up and into Benson, using his hold on his waist to pull him down onto the rough thrusts.  Benson panted and let out small groans each time Oska slammed home.

Oska’s pace rapidly increased and he rested his cheek on Benson’s shoulder—completely lost in the feeling of drilling Benson as hard as he could in their position.  Benson’s knuckles were white where he gripped the headboard.  His moaning got louder and longer and Oska knew if he kept at it for another minute or two he could get Benson to come untouched.  As much he enjoyed that, he also knew that it would feel better with a hand on his cock.

Oska moved one hand down and gripped Benson’s cock.  He actually shouted—sounding like it was partially surprise as well as pleasure.  He began to thrash wildly, letting out harsh groans that were just shy of being screams.  It went to Oska’s head, and his groin, and he knew that he was about three seconds away from completely losing it.  Benson was right there with him—and then there was a sharp crack and their momentum sent then flying onto their backs.  Fortunately they landed safely on the mattress and Oska could feel Benson’s cock twitching in his hand, hot semen spurting out and covering his fingers and wrist.  Oska was able to get his feet under himself just enough to thrust quickly up into Benson and then he was coming too—coming deep inside Benson with an extremely satisfying pleasure.

They lay still, chests heaving as they both sought to catch their breath.  For Oska it was a little more difficult since almost Benson’s full weight was on top of him.  As their harsh panting evened out, Benson raised an arm.  Still clutched in his hand was a slat made of beautiful ebony wood.

“Um.  I’m sorry I broke your bed,” Benson said meekly.

Oska chuckled and gently encouraged Benson to roll off him and onto his side.  He took the slat from Benson’s hand and looked at it, noticing the imperfections he’d created in the wood while he had been very much an amateur in woodworking.

“I was thinking of building a new bed anyway,” Oska said and tossed the slat onto floor.

Benson smiled and snuggled into his side—though he probably had a more manly word for it.

“Did that feel good?” Benson asked.

“Yes.  But everything with you does.”

“Do you trust yourself with me?”

Oska turned his head and looked at Benson.  He kissed his forehead.

“I feel safe with you.”

Benson raised a hand and stroked Oska’s cheek.  They leaned into each other and kissed.

"Love you.”

“Me too.”

**The Opposite of The End**

**Monday, August 25, 2014**

 

Benson opened his eyes.

 Across the room he saw the black garment bag hanging from the ebony dresser—hanging out from the side a bit due to the slanting floor.  They really needed to find a new place to live.  With a bedroom big enough to hold the new bed Oska wanted to build.  Benson was kind of afraid that he was going to end up sleeping in some gothic four post monstrosity with gargoyles on it or something.  As long as he could sleep on it and spread Oska out comfortably when he wanted to, he supposed it didn’t really matter what it looked like.

 His eyes focused on the garment bag again.  It reminded him of the expensive, custom tailored suit Oska had paid an unjustifiable sum to have it completed the same day they’d bought it inside.  He smiled.  It was the suit he was going to get married in.

 

 Benson let Oska fuss with his green tie, and did absolutely nothing to fix Oska’s blue one even though it was slightly askew.  The tie kept tugging at Benson’s neck, so finally he swatted at Oska’s hands.

 "Quit it.  Fix your own tie.”

 Benson straightened his tie, loosening it just a bit.  Oska attempted to fix his, but made it worse.  They were next in line for the clerk’s window at the Montgomery County Circuit Court.  They both looked very suave and debonair in Benson’s opinion, and vastly overdressed for their surroundings.  Fortunately they’d be set for their dinner reservations at Komi, one of the best restaurants in DC.

 The person in front of them moved away and they stepped forward.  The clerk was a plump black woman with a pleasant, though no-nonsense face.  The name plate on the window declared her to be Octavia.  Benson gave her one of his best smiles.  After all, he was in a good mood.

 “Hello, Octavia.”

 “Mm-hmm,” she said, looking him and then Oska over.

 “We’re here to apply for a marriage license.”

 “I’m going to need a completed application, identification from both of you in the form of a birth certificate, a driver’s license, a passport, a military ID, or an alien registration card, your social security numbers, proof of death or completed divorce in the event either of you were previously married, and $55.00 which can be paid with cash, credit, or check made out to Montgomery County.”

 Oska and Benson hopped to and pulled out their paperwork.  They didn’t want to run the risk of displeasing the woman.  It seemed like it would make for a very unpleasant day if they got on her bad side.  She competently processed their paperwork and then swiped Benson’s credit card.  Then she made them both sign the application and the license.

 “Now, that won’t be valid until 6:00am two calendar days from today.  Then you have six months to have the ceremony, otherwise the license will be void and you’ll have to apply again if you still want to get married.”

 Benson tucked his card back into his wallet and Oska cocked his head.

 “Ceremony.  Do we have to have a ceremony?”

 Octavia gave him a look.  “Do you want the marriage to be legal?”

 “Well, yeah…but isn’t getting the license it?  Doesn’t that mean we’re…married?”

 “Honey.  This is just a license that says you’re allowed to get married.  You still need to have it officiated.”

 “Oh.  And we can’t do that until Wednesday?”

 “That’s right.”

 Oska turned to look at Benson.  “Do we have time to come in before work tomorrow?  Or could we try to do it during lunch?”

 “I can’t this week.  There’s too much wrap up going on with the Podvodnik case.  Honestly, I don’t see having any free time for a while.  Like weeks, if we have to do it on a weekday.”

 “I guess we could hire a minister or something,” Oska said.  “To do it on a weekend if we can’t do it with the justice of the peace.”

 “Oh, no.  We do it on a weekend and hire someone and my mother is going to want to come.  And then she’s going to want to plan ‘just a small party.’  And then she’ll say if she’s coming there’s no reason why my siblings and aunts and uncles and cousins can’t be there.  And then it would be an insult if her friends aren’t invited because she was invited to all of her friends’ children’s weddings.  And before you know it we’ll be having a $50,000 wedding and freaking out about whether the gardenias survived the power outage in the florist’s refrigerator.  No, absolutely not.”

 Oska smiled.  “Well, we’ve got six months—oh shit, no.  Ninety days to fulfill the Bureau’s deadline.  But I’m sure we’ll both have a day we can take off come up sometime before then.”

 “Yeah.  I’m sure there’ll be time when I’m done with Podvodnik, and before Russ’ trial starts in October.  Or…maybe we can put it off to November.”

 “But weren't we considering October for our honeymoon?  It’d be weird to go on our honeymoon before we’re actually married.”

 “That’s true…”

 Octavia was looking back and forth between them as they spoke.

 “Lord, have mercy,” she said.  “I got nothing against two people in love getting married, but this right here is why two men shouldn’t be in charge of it.  Alright, here’s what I’m going to do.  I’m going to put in a waiver for you two.  Hank should be back from lunch in ten minutes or so.  He’ll perform the ceremony for you and sign the license today.”

 Oska’s face lit up and Benson’s heart thudded excitedly.  It made him inexplicably happy to see how excited Oska was to marry him.

 “You’ll do that for us?” Oska asked.

 “If I don’t you two will just be back here two years later asking for an extension.  You two go wait in those chairs over there.  I’ve gotta go get this signed by Judge Bier before he gets back into traffic court.  You two have rings?” she asked with an eyebrow arched judgmentally.

 Benson laughed nervously.  “Yes, of course!  Of course we have rings.”

 She pursed her lips and looked at him skeptically, and then turned and walked out of her office.  Benson waited until the door shut behind her.  He turned back to Oska.

 “Oh my God, we don’t have rings,” he hissed.

 “It’s fine,” Oska reassured him.  He reached through the window and took four paperclips out of a container on her desk.  He led Benson over to the chairs Octavia had indicated and they sat down.  Oska unfolded the paperclips, and then carefully began to shape them into rings with a twisted pattern that was unbelievably sophisticated for office supplies.  He used Benson’s finger to size one of the rings and then made adjustments.  He was just finishing his own ring when Octavia came into the room from a different door.  She had a cardboard box in her hand and walked up to them, digging through it with the other.

 “Okay.  I got Judge Bier to sign the waiver.  Hank is brushing the crumbs off his shirt and will be here in a moment.  At least you two are dressed for the part.  Those suits are brand new, and you’ve got a blue tie on.  I assume something borrowed are those paperclips you stole off my desk.”

 Benson gave her a guilty look, but Oska just seemed pleased with himself.

 “We don’t really have anything too old, although this thing has been in here a while.”  She pulled out a truly sad looking bouquet of plastic flowers.

 Benson tried not to make a face at the prop.  “That’s okay.  I don’t think either of us needs a bouquet.”

 “Speak for yourself,” Oska said and took the faded plastic flowers from Octavia.  He put it to his face and inhaled like he was scenting a fresh bouquet of flowers.  He looked up at Benson with an expression of regret on his face.

 “It smells like dust and spider legs.”

 Benson laughed.  He full on threw his head back and laughed louder and longer than he had in a very long time.  He hadn’t had any doubts anyway, but it was good to know that he was definitely making the right decision to marry Oska.  He laughed until a man came up to the trio and asked who was getting married.

 Benson and Oska identified themselves and then followed him to a small room with a lopsided podium.  The man pulled out a stack of three books from under the podium.

 “Religious preference?” he asked.

 They shook their heads.

 “None,” Benson said.

 “Well, don’t need these then.”

 The justice of the peace put the books back under the podium and Octavia let out a small, disapproving noise.  Benson turned to look at her.

 “Are you staying?” he asked.

 “I’m going to be your witness.”

 “The state of Maryland doesn’t require witnesses.”

 Octavia put a hand on her hip and gave him a look that made his balls shrivel up.

 “Are you saying you don’t want me here?” she asked.

 Benson’s jaw flapped and Oska hit him lightly on the shoulder.

 “No, that’s not what he’s saying at all.  We’d love to have you here,” Oska said.

 “Mm-hmm.”

 “Okay,” Hank said.  “Ready?”

Benson and Oska faced the officiant, and he circled a finger in the air indicating that they should face each other.  They turned and Benson couldn’t help but grin when he caught sight of Oska standing there with his ridiculous bouquet.  Oska grinned too and his nose scrunched up.  Benson knew he wasn’t going to be able to stop smiling for a long time.  He reached out and took one of Oska’s hands in his.

“Okay.  Well, since we don’t need to worry about any religious rites—do you both understand that marriage is a commitment made with one’s whole heart and mind to another person?  That there should be no doubts as to why you are binding yourself to another human being?”

“Yes,” they both murmured.

“Do you understand that there will be hard times with the good?  That good and bad fortune, wealth and poverty, sickness and wellness, happiness and sadness will all come and go, but your faith and commitment to your partner must remain constant?”

“Yes,” they said again.

“Will one of you present the other with a ring?”

Benson went first and slid the knotted paperclip onto Oska’ left ring finger.

“This ring,” Hank said, “represents—what I hope will be a nicer ring,” he muttered under his breath, “which will represent your commitment to each other and serve as a reminder of your faith and love for your partner.”  Hank looked down at his notes.  “Benson Remick, do you consent to take Vladimir Mercer—”

“Oska,” they both corrected him.

Hank looked back and forth between them.

“I go by Oska,” Oska said.

“Okay.  Benson Remick, do you consent to take Oska Mercer as your husband?”

“I do.”

The officiant nodded to Oska and he awkwardly put Benson’s ring on his finger while still trying to hold the bouquet.

“This ring—which I hope is a proxy—represents your commitment to each other and will serve as a reminder for your faith and love for your partner.  Vla—Oska Mercer, do you consent to take Benson Remick as your husband?”

“I do.”

“Um.  Do you two have anything personal you’d like to add?”

Benson shrugged his lips and was about to say no, but then Oska spoke.

“Benson, the circumstances surrounding our meeting and how we fell in love will always be tinged with a lot of, quite frankly, bad memories and emotions.  But I want you to know that my love for you is completely pure and untainted by the forces that conspired against us.”  He gave him a wry smile and put a hand to his chest, the plastic flowers drooping pitifully.  “Please know that I have no regrets about being the thief who stole your heart.”

Benson had to bite his lip to stave off the sudden urge to burst into tears like a giant sap.  Hank and Octavia had exchanged looks after Oska’s declaration, thinking his words to just be cheesy, cliché drivel.  They didn’t know that Oska was saying that he would never wish away the worst horrors of his life if it meant that he couldn't be with Benson.  He was also taking the power away from Russ, and making the word theirs and a representation of their love.

Benson nodded at Oska.  He understood exactly what he was doing.  He squeezed Oska’s hand.

“Oska, I’m proud and honored that you think me worthy of being your husband.”  He gave him a little wink.  “And you’ll always be my angel.”

Hank and Octavia exchanged looks again, but Oska’s smile grew wider and his eyes got a little shiny.

“You know, I think I’d be okay with that one sticking.”

Benson smiled in reaction to Oska’s smile.  He had a feeling he always would.

“Well then,” Hank said, “by the power vested in me by the state of Maryland, I declare you to be married.  You may consummate the marriage with a kiss.”

“I hope we’ll be able to do a lot more than that to consummate it,” Oska murmured.

“Oh, I—I didn’t—I meant—” Hank spluttered embarrassedly.

Octavia snorted in amusement.

Benson leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry; we will.”

Then he tilted his head and kissed his husband.  They kept it closed mouth, aware of their audience, but let it linger for a good four or five seconds.  They pulled back and grinned at each other.  Hank finished signing the license and handed it to Octavia.

“Congratulations,” she said.  “I’ll go make a copy of this for you, but you are now officially married.  Because a woman got it done for you.”

“Thank you, Octavia,” they intoned playfully.

She gave them a look and a final, “Mm-hmm,” but she winked at them as she left.  Hank followed her out whispering, “We really need to come up with something to replace ‘you may kiss the bride.’”

Then they were left alone in the room.  Oska tossed the disgraceful bouquet over his shoulder and then wrapped his arms around Benson’s neck.  Benson’s arms fit naturally around Oska’s waist.

“Husband,” Benson said, giving the word a test run.  “This is my husband, Oska.”

“This is my honey bear, Benson.”

“Don’t even start,” Benson warned.

Oska laughed.

“Unless you want to try to find a new nickname.  It’s not so hard.  Then I can have baby back.”

“Hmm.”

“Can I?  Use baby again?”

“We’ll see.”


	8. Glossary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story was written in 2013/2014. While the terms below are still accurate some of the FBI/law enforcement practices and procedures depicted in the story are outdated. Some have been deliberately modified.

**ADIC –** Assistant Director in Charge; oversees an entire field office, only found in extra large field offices: DC, LA, New York, Miami, and Chicago—and yes, it's not said letter by letter, it's said the way it's spelled

**ASAC –** Assistant Special Agent in Charge; oversees a group of squads—and yes, it's not said letter by letter, it's said the way it's spelled

**CR-2**  – Divisions are given two letter designations, Criminal = CR, Counterterrorism = CT, Cyber = CY, Counterintelligence = CI, Intelligence = ID   The number is merely a counter and not specific to any particular country or threat or investigation

**DNI**  – Director of National Intelligence; a presidential appointee in charge of overseeing the sixteen agencies of the United States Intelligence Community (USIC)

**EC**  – Electronic Communication; official reports

**EEO**  – Equal Employment Opportunity

**ERT**  – Evidence Recovery Team

**IA**  – Intelligence Analyst

**IO**  – Intelligence Officer; a spy

**OPR**  – Office of Professional Responsibility; basically if you do something stupid enough that it requires a formal inquiry; also covers complaints of discrimination and harassment

**OST**  – Operations Support Technician; fancy term for secretary

**PNG**  – Persona Non Grata; the political term used for kicking someone with diplomatic immunity out of the country

**RA**  – Resident Agency; a branch of the FBI underneath a larger Field Office

**SA**  – Special Agent

**SAC**  – Special Agent in Charge; oversees the field office or resident agency of assignment except in extra large field offices: DC, LA, New York, Miami, and Chicago in which case they oversee one division; this one, oddly enough, is spelled out when spoken aloud unlike ASAC and ADIC

**SSA**  – Supervisory Special Agent; in charge of a squad of agents and analysts

**TDY**  – Temporary Duty (Assignment); short or long-term but temporary assignment to a different office/division

**WFO**  – Washington Field Office; not to be confused with HQ (headquarters) which is also located in DC


End file.
